Murder in the White City
by Jedi Sapphire
Summary: As the fiftieth anniversary of Elessar’s coronation approaches, there is murder in Minas Tirith. It is up to the King - with plenty of help from his family and friends, of course - to find out who the killer is.
1. The Woman in the Garden

**Disclaimer:** I wish I could claim at least an Elf – just one little Elf – but I can't. Nothing is mine.

**Author's Note:** I don't think I'm ever going to be able to finish writing a longer fic _before_ I start posting it. I did have good intentions with this story, but... I guess it was inevitable that I wouldn't be able to keep the resolution. *shakes head*

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass, for her work on this. *hugs*

**Summary:** As the fiftieth anniversary of Elessar's coronation approaches, there is murder in Minas Tirith. It is up to the King (with plenty of help from his family and friends, of course) to find out who the killer is.

**Warnings:** Well, it _is_ a murder mystery, but I don't think there is anything particularly graphic or violent – if any of the chapters seem that way as this goes on, I'll have a separate warning on them.

**Rating:** PG

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Woman in the Garden**

The day began like any other. King Elessar, with a kiss for his wife and a pat on the head for his youngest daughter, hurried to his courtroom after breakfast, followed ten minutes later by his son Eldarion. His wife, Arwen, waited in the breakfast room until her children had all left; her oldest daughter to stroll in the gardens with a certain young captain of the City Guard, her two younger daughters to go to the library for their morning lesson in political science.

With a sigh of contentment, the Queen of Gondor pushed back her chair and made her way up the stairs and down a corridor. She stopped in front of an oaken door and rapped on it smartly. There was a muffled thud from within, as though someone had flung something at the door, followed by some Dwarvish words that sounded distinctly impolite. Giggling like one of her own daughters, Arwen turned around and knocked on the door opposite.

She opened it without waiting for a response. "Good morning, Legolas."

The occupant of the room was, as she had expected, wide awake. He had been sitting reading a book, but when she entered he got to his feet and executed a graceful bow.

"My queen. I am honoured."

Arwen rolled her eyes. "Why were you not at breakfast?"

"Why did you wake Gimli again?"

"Was he loud enough that _you_ could hear him?" Arwen demanded, startled.

"Of course not. Not even a trained Elven warrior can hear a Dwarf's curses through two thick oaken doors. But you had that _look_ on your face."

She laughed. "I know I ought not – poor Gimli certainly deserves his rest. But he persists in believing that, even after fifty years, I cannot remember which is your room and which is his. And you have still not answered my question."

Legolas shrugged. "I was not hungry."

"Estel is worried about you."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "He would do better to worry about himself. I have never heard of an Elf dying of the Sea-longing, but I _have_ heard of Men making themselves ill from too little rest. I have spoken to Estel of it. I have told him that he should not attempt to do everything himself. He does not listen to me."

"Would you ever tell your father that he should not attempt to do everything himself?"

"Would _you_ ever tell my father that he should not attempt to do everything himself?"

Arwen chuckled. "Point taken, my prince. Do you want to go for a walk? From the look of things, Gimli will be abed for some time yet, and it is a beautiful day."

With a light laugh and a mock-bow, Legolas indicated one of the windows, which stood wide open. Arwen frowned.

"Honestly, Legolas, you are impossible! You do realize that we are among Men? I am Queen of Gondor and you are Lord of Ithilien and Prince of Eryn Lasgalen. We cannot be climbing out of windows."

"Ah, but you know you want to."

"I know that my brothers are a terrible influence on you. I suppose it is no good forbidding you from speaking to them again?"

"That might be problematic," Legolas said apologetically. "We have planned a surprise for Estel, you see, to mark the fiftieth anniversary of his coronation, and in order to arrange it I will have to speak to them."

Arwen's frown deepened. "Is this the kind of surprise I should know about?"

"It is the kind of surprise to which you will not object, I promise. Do you not trust me?"

"No." Then, with a longing look at the open window. "Come, Legolas. The stairs are _this_ way."

Legolas, with a smile of innocent mischief that Arwen knew and had learnt to dread centuries ago, went to the window and leaned out. "There is nobody," he said. "Nobody at all, Undómiel. We will be quick, and no one will know."

"But –"

"We will be on the ground in less than a minute."

"But –"

"You know you want to."

With a sigh that did not sound remotely unhappy, Arwen joined Legolas at the window. "Very well, then, but if somebody sees us –"

"Trust me, Arwen. I have spent centuries evading the guards in my father's stronghold. I can get us down without anybody seeing us."

Arwen let the young Elf take her hand and guide her onto the ledge. Legolas was as good as his word. In seconds, he and Arwen were on the broad paved path below. Arwen had plenty of time to dust off her skirts and smooth down her hair before her companion hissed, "Someone is coming."

She straightened, slipped her hand through Legolas' arm, and let him lead her in the direction of the Queen's Garden.

The Queen's Garden was at the outer edge of the city's highest level. Flowering creepers and sprays of roses covered the parapet wall, which was low enough that Legolas and Arwen, standing at it, could see Minas Tirith spread out below them tier by tier.

The sight of the city made Arwen smile, as it always did.

"Legolas," she murmured, "when you see my father again, tell him... tell him it was worth it."

"What was worth it?"

"My choosing a mortal life – and not just for Estel's sake." Arwen waved at the rooftops below. "I have grown to love this city, to love this land. I never understood mortals before, not even the part of my own nature that was mortal. I did not move among Men as my brothers did. But now – I think I begin to understand. Estel gives me joy I could not imagine, but I am also happy that I gave him the strength and will to reclaim _this_ from Sauron. It is beautiful beyond belief."

Legolas responded with a smile of perfect understanding.

"Estel still feels guilty, sometimes," Arwen went on softly. "He does not say anything, but I can tell. And not just about me. He feels guilty because he thinks he has forced my father to part with me, because _you_ are here instead of being either in Eryn Lasgalen or in Valinor, because my brothers linger when they could have sailed with my father..."

Arwen trailed off, and moved away from the parapet to sit on a carved stone bench.

"I am glad you are here," she said simply. "I – do not tell Estel this, Legolas, he will only feel worse – sometimes I long for the companionship of Elves. I love Minas Tirith, I love my life here and I love Estel, but..."

"But you cannot help remembering that for close to three thousand years you dwelt in Imladris and Lórien, and Men may be wise and noble, but there are some things they cannot understand," Legolas finished gently, joining her on the bench. "There is no shame in that, Arwen. It would be unnatural if you did not miss your home."

She patted his hand, but before she could say anything they heard a sudden commotion. A babble of raised voices, probably guards', floated through the air, shouting indistinctly, along with rapid footsteps, and above them all a clear, high woman's voice saying, "I _will_ see the Queen! I must see the Queen at once."

Legolas and Arwen exchanged a glance and set off in the direction of the sounds.

Just past the corner they saw half a dozen guards surrounding a slender woman. She was small-made – her head would probably come no higher than Legolas' shoulder – and, even to Elven eyes, very pretty. Her dress, simple but well-cut and made of fine silk, marked her as a noblewoman or at least a member of a wealthy family.

"What is happening?" Arwen snapped.

"My queen!" The guards came to attention at once. The leader turned to Arwen apologetically. "Forgive us for disturbing you, my queen. It is nothing. This woman wanted to see you, but she is disturbed in her mind – that is what the healers said yesterday. I have sent for one of them to escort her to her home –"

"I am not mad!" the woman burst out furiously. "I am not mad, and I wish to speak to the queen alone!"

"Let her go," Arwen said. "She does not seem dangerous."

"My queen, your compassion does you credit, but she may mean you harm. You really must not listen to her. The healers will be here soon –"

"Please, my queen," the woman begged. "I do not need healers. I must speak to you."

"My queen, it is too dangerous," the guard protested. "I cannot allow it."

Arwen hesitated, and finally said, "Prince Legolas will be with me. You may leave her here."

The guards looked at Legolas doubtfully. They were all very young, and tended to disbelieve their elders' stories about the battle prowess of Elves, especially since nearly all the Elves they had ever seen in Minas Tirith had tended to spend their time in the gardens talking to trees. The leader opened his mouth to object, but something in the Elf-prince's eye stopped him from speaking.

Bowing with something more than their normal haste, the guards retreated.

"You are getting more like your father every day," Arwen muttered. Then she turned her attention to the woman. "What is wrong, Lady...?"

"Nórui," the woman said. "My name is Nórui."

Arwen's eyes widened with recognition. "You must be – are you Lord Beron's daughter?" Nórui inclined her head, and Arwen said, "I have met your father several times – the last time, I think, not more than a year ago."

Nórui nodded. "He was last in Minas Tirith a year ago, my queen. I – I do not know if he told you, but I was wed then, and he came here to see me settled in my husband's home."

She hesitated, glancing at Legolas.

Arwen said, "No matter what your problem is, you need have no anxiety about speaking before Prince Legolas. Neither of us will tell anyone what passes here unless you wish it."

"As you say, my queen. May I tell you something about myself first? It may – you may have to know that to understand my... my problem." At Arwen's gesture of acquiescence, she went on, "I was married last year to the wine merchant Idhren." Arwen started, and Nórui said, "I see you have guessed my problem."

"I had not realized... Your father told me you were to marry a merchant in Minas Tirith, but I did not know... I heard what happened to your husband, of course." Arwen turned to Legolas. "Idhren was killed two weeks ago. The guard captain said it was murder... I am so sorry for your loss, Lady Nórui. If there is anything I can do to help you..."

"You can help me, my queen," Nórui said, her eyes filling with tears. "You are the only one who can help me. You see, my brother has been arrested for his murder. I know he did not do it – he could never have done such a thing."

Arwen laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I will ask the guard captain to speak to you. If your brother is innocent, the guards will surely discover who is guilty. You need not fear that your brother will come to any harm."

"No, my queen," Nórui said in a trembling voice. "Nemir has – I do not even understand _why_ – my brother has confessed to the murder. He told the guard captain he was guilty. Oh, I know what you must be thinking," she went on hastily. "But it is not true! I know him. I do not know why he is doing this, but I know that my brother could not possibly have killed Idhren. My father has not heard of this yet, but when he does – please, you must help me, my queen!"

"Perhaps you should tell us the whole story," Arwen suggested.

"Yes, my queen. Nemir went to Rohan three years ago to stay with my uncle there and help him manage his estates. They were in difficulties. He could not return for my wedding, but he wrote to me promising to visit me in Minas Tirith as soon as he could. He finally came two weeks ago." Nórui paused, shaking her head. "I was so happy to see him! I had no idea what was going to happen... That night after dinner, I was in my dressing-room getting ready for bed. I heard a loud crash from below, and the floor trembled."

She clenched and unclenched her fists nervously, took several deep breaths, and then went on with her story.

"It was a minute before I reacted. I ran outside with my maid. The courtyard was in total confusion when we reached it. There were people everywhere. Nemir was there as well. It took some time for us to discover the cause of the noise, but eventually we found it. In the wine cellar, several large barrels of wine had fallen from the highest shelf. By the time we found them – well, it was Nemir who noticed that Idhren was not among us. I thought he had simply fallen asleep and not heard the noise, but when we went upstairs I saw –"

Her voice broke, and Arwen said quickly, "That is enough. Was it then that your brother confessed?"

"No, my queen. He... he was as horrified as I was. He took me to his room and gave me something to drink. I think it was a sleeping draught. When I woke, it was morning. I went downstairs and the house steward told me that Nemir had gone to the guard captain and confessed to killing my husband. I went to the prison at once, and they let me in because of who my father was, but Nemir refused to see me. I know he did not do it, my queen. I know he would never have done it. Please, please help me."

Arwen squeezed her shoulder sympathetically. "You need not worry, Lady Nórui. I will do anything I can to help you, and I know Legolas will as well. So will my husband, if you will give me leave to tell him of this."

"Yes – of course, my queen. You have my leave to tell anybody you think will be able to help uncover the truth. I tried to speak to King Elessar myself, but I was not allowed into the courtroom."

Arwen nodded, but her face was very grave. "Lady Nórui, you must understand one thing. We will all do everything we can to find out the truth of what happened the night your husband was killed. But you will have to be prepared to accept that truth, no matter what it is – even if it is something you do not like."

"I am prepared, my queen," Nórui said fiercely. "I _know_ Nemir is innocent."

* * *

That evening, after the girls and Eldarion had retired to their respective after-dinner occupations, Aragorn, Legolas, Arwen and Gimli sat around the king's study. Aragorn had lit his pipe and was blowing smoke-rings in the direction of the ceiling. Arwen and Legolas, with identical expressions of long-suffering patience, were sitting as close to the open window as they could.

"Should we tell them?" Arwen murmured in a voice so soft that even Legolas barely heard it.

"This is as good a time as any."

"What about Gimli?"

"I am certain he can help. And it will be worse if we do _not_ tell him."

"I know he can help, but –"

"What are you two muttering about?" Aragorn demanded, cutting through Arwen's words. "If you are complaining about my pipe again, then I should warn you: the next time my stocks of Longbottom Leaf mysteriously vanish, I will be _very_ angry." He fixed them with a glare that did not make the slightest impression on either Elrond's daughter or Thranduil's son.

"We are not plotting to steal your weed," Legolas assured him. "Although truly, _gwador-nîn_, you should be happy if we do. It is a service to the people of Gondor. So many young men are adopting this vile habit in imitation of their king –"

"_Vile_ habit? Mithrandir enjoyed it!"

Arwen made a face. "Yes, and I cannot imagine how. I think _Ada_ was most thankful that they do not grow tobacco in the Blessed Realm. But your abhorrent practices are not the point now, _meleth_. We have something to tell you."

Aragorn looked at Gimli in despair. "Do you not pity me? There is _one_ Elf." He pointed at Arwen. "There is another." He indicated Legolas. "And when my brothers come for the fiftieth-year ceremony there will be two more, all doing their best to take away my pipe."

"Oh, but that is not all," Legolas said, grinning. "My father said he would try to come as well. With Lord Thorontur and Lord Arbellason, of course. Did I never mention that, Estel? How terribly forgetful of me."

"Wonderful," Aragorn grumbled. "And I thought it was only going to be _difficult_ for me to smoke in peace. Still," he added, brightening, "that is four weeks away. Perhaps your father will understand the delights of – oh, why do I even try? I will have to do the best I can. I do not know –"

Before he could begin a rant on the sensitive noses of Elves, Arwen cut in hastily. "We know, Estel, but there is something we must tell you."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "Why do I think I will not like this?"

Arwen gave an impatient shrug and launched into her story. When she was finished, there was silence for several minutes. Gimli was the first to break it.

"Well," he said, looking shrewdly from Legolas to Arwen, "how do the two of you plan to go about this?"

"More importantly," Aragorn added, his face grim, "how do you know that the woman was telling the truth? You say she tried to see me and was denied entry?"

"That is what she told us."

"If she really is Lord Beron's daughter, she would have needed only to give her name for her to be given an audience. I cannot believe that she was not allowed to see me. She may have been lying to gain your sympathy."

"Thousands of people line up to see you each day, Estel," Legolas protested. "And most of them are _not_ admitted."

Aragorn sighed. "The Valar preserve me from the foolishness of Elves! Thousands of people do _not_ line up to see me each day, Legolas. A hundred, perhaps. You can count enemy riders down to the last man even when they are miles away. I do not know why you cannot count people waiting outside my audience chamber. I admit that most of them see one of the stewards... But they would surely have mentioned something like this to me."

"At least ask," Arwen suggested. "It is only two weeks since Idhren was killed. Nórui – oh, very well, Estel, the woman who _claims_ to be Nórui – may have been too distraught to think of using her rank to get an audience. She has spent all her life on Lord Beron's country estates, after all. The guards would not know her, and _she_ would not know how the court functions. She probably thought that she could stand in line with the other petitioners and see you."

"Perhaps you should try to talk to this Nemir as well," Gimli suggested. "Find out _his_ side of the story."

Aragorn nodded, although he still looked doubtful. "I suppose I can do that... I will speak to the Captain of the Guard. He will know what this is all about. Once I have spoken to him, we can decide what to do about it. And in the meantime, you two will do _nothing_. I do not want to return from court tomorrow and discover that you got yourselves stabbed by sneaking into some disreputable tavern pretending to be humans."

Legolas and Arwen glared at him.

"I will have you know that I was a warrior for centuries before you were even born –"

"And I may not be a warrior, but I am not exactly an idiot either –"

"And furthermore –"

"That will do," Aragorn said firmly. "I have to answer to Elladan, Elrohir and Lord Celeborn for any harm that comes to _you_." He pointed at Arwen. "And I have to answer to Elladan, Elrohir and King Thranduil for any harm that comes to _you_." He scowled at Legolas. "If harm should come to _both_ of you, every last Elf still in Middle-earth will probably be laying siege to Minas Tirith within the hour. Therefore you will both do as I tell you, and sit here quietly until we have more information. Gimli!" He swivelled to face the Dwarf. "I am leaving you in charge of these two. Do not let them go out."

* * *

**Sindarin Translations:**

_Ada_ - Dad/Daddy

_Meleth_ - (My) Love

_Gwador-nîn_ - My (sworn) brother

* * *

What did you think? Good? Bad? It's already obvious who the murderer is? Please review!


	2. King Elessar's Decision

**Disclaimer: **All his. Nothing mine.

Thanks to ShakNali, ilysia, Ocean's Nocturne of the COCA, ShaolinQueen, Escape my reality, Lady Ambreanna, Thranduils Heart And Soul, Silivren Tinu, ObiBettina7, Kimihaine, KyMahalei, darkdranzer, LunaQuetzal, Goldenbrook, RadioactiveSquirrel and White Wolf1 for reviewing the first chapter. *g*

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass. *hugs*

* * *

**Chapter 2: King Elessar's Decision**

After breakfast the next morning, Arwen, Legolas and Gimli were grouped around a low table in the queen's sitting-room. Arwen and Gimli were engaged in a Mannish strategy game involving thirty-two playing pieces on a chequered board.

"I do not see the point of it," Legolas muttered, scowling at the carved wooden men. "Have you ever seen a horse take two steps forward and one to the left, and then just stand _waiting_? It is likelier to trample that little thing over _there_ –" He indicated one of the pieces – "and then it will probably dodge through that second line, and meanwhile that thing that looks like a _mûmak _will have come to the front, so –"

"Ignore him," Arwen told Gimli. "Erestor once told me that Legolas argued with him for an hour about why the Elves of Gondolin did not try to plant trees inside the mountain. And this was when he counted no more than fifteen summers, mind."

Gimli snorted with laughter. "I can well believe it! That Elf is the most impossibly infuriating, exasperating – where does he think he is going?"

Legolas stopped short in the act of sidling towards the window. "I am not going anywhere," he said innocently. "I only wanted to smell the fresh air."

"Sit down, Elf!" Gimli barked.

"I will return long before Estel comes back for lunch," Legolas promised, walking to the window and leaning out. "He will never know."

"Return before – you plan to climb out the window, Elf? Have you lost whatever sense you possessed? Sit down and stop behaving like a half-witted child!"

Legolas put one knee on the windowsill. "I will not fall."

"You are right. You will not fall, because you will not climb!" Legolas lifted his other knee onto the sill, gripping the edge to keep his balance as he bent forward. "Legolas! Get down!" Gimli turned to Arwen. "Are you not going to stop him?"

Arwen smiled. "I gave up trying to keep him from climbing out of windows when he was a child. Do not worry, Master Dwarf. He will not fall. And he _will_ return within the hour."

"You planned this between you?" Gimli demanded, staring from one Elf to the other, suppressing an exclamation of alarm as Legolas leaned out even further. "Where is he going?"

"To speak to Nemir. I have a feeling that he will refuse to see Estel."

"And he will see the Elf?"

"The Elf might find it... easier... to get himself an audience. Take your cloak, Legolas."

Arwen picked up the garment, which Legolas had dropped over a chair, and tossed it to him. He caught it in one hand, wrapping it around his shoulders with deft movements.

"You remember the way?" the Queen of Gondor asked.

"Perfectly. Do not look so scared, Gimli. Nothing will go wrong. Estel need _never _know."

And Legolas vanished, leaving Gimli to groan miserably and sink into a chair.

* * *

Legolas, one anxious eye on the sun, wrapped his cloak closer around himself. He had no hope of getting into the prison if anyone recognized him. After a particularly ill-fated attempt Legolas had made at disguising some years ago, which had nearly resulted in Aragorn having to write a _very_ difficult letter to Thranduil, the King of Gondor had ordered that the son of the Elven-king was to be allowed _nowhere_ where unsavoury men might gather.

He waited in the shadows outside the gate for several minutes, until, as Arwen had told him, a large cart loaded with food and supplies came up the cobbled street. Legolas drew as close to the wall as he could without being detected. When the cart drew level with him, hiding him from the view of the guards on the gate, he leapt onto the top of the wall and down to the ground on the other side more lightly and noiselessly than any human. Before anybody had noticed him, he had vanished behind the building.

He hurried around to the back. On the lower three floors, the windows had stout iron bars on them, but on the fourth, a long balcony ran the length of the building. Legolas was delighted to see that there was an oak tree growing beside the building, its branches stretching to the balcony.

_Hello_, he murmured cheerfully, scrambling up into it. _I do not believe we have met._

The tree rustled its branches enthusiastically, but did not say anything. Legolas, realizing that it had probably never heard Sindarin before, tried again in Westron.

_I am an Elf of the Woodland realm._

_An Elf!_ the tree replied with enthusiasm! _I have never met an Elf before. I have heard them mentioned by the Men who walk below._

Legolas could not help smiling as he patted the branch beneath him.

_I am delighted to meet you. I will need some help._

A few minutes later, the Elf stood on the balcony. He paused to dust himself off and draw his hood up before he clambered through one of the doors that had been left unlatched.

The room in which he found himself evidently belonged to the prison guards. It had two beds, both neatly made, and a pair of identical wardrobes and wash-stands. In the middle of the room was a table with four chairs around it. Several books were stacked on the table.

Legolas crossed the room in three strides and opened the door at the far end a crack. He listened at it for a moment, but there were no sounds from the hallway, not even breathing.

He slipped through the door. He and Arwen had spent most of the previous night, after Estel and Gimli had fallen asleep, in the library. They had managed to locate a floor plan of the prison and they had plotted out his course very carefully. He found a flight of stairs, went down it, and passed through another door. He had his excuse ready on his tongue. Arwen had made him practice until his Common Speech was not tinged with the slightest trace of an Elvish accent.

But nobody had noticed his entry.

All eyes were focused on a pair of men who stood in the middle of the room. One was clearly the warden; the other, from his dress, looked like one of the stewards' junior aides.

"I do not care!" the aide was saying furiously. "The King wants to see him, and –"

"You know the King too well to believe that he will force his presence on any prisoner without cause," the warden said coldly. "Especially Lord Beron's son. The King knows that he is being well-treated. He does not want to see anybody."

"But –"

"I assure you, he will come to no harm," the warden interrupted calmly. "He is in the very first holding cell. He is not with any dangerous prisoners. He can summon us easily if he has need of anything."

Legolas smiled beneath his hood and edged along the wall. Had everyone's attention not been on the two arguing men, he could never have managed it; as it was, he moved through the shadows with the silent stealth of a trained Elven warrior, and no one turned for so much as a second glance.

The door at the other end of the room was open and unguarded. Legolas slipped through it and turned left.

In the first cell he came to, a man sat on a wooden bench with his head in his hands. A quick glance around told Legolas that the cell, if not quite as comfortable as the cells in his father's stronghold, was spacious enough to allow a grown man to walk a few paces, if he wanted to, and the pallet along one wall looked clean, if threadbare.

"Nemir?" the Elf asked softly.

The man looked up at once. "What, again?" he demanded. "I have told you before, I do not want to see the King!"

"It would help if you would not talk so loudly," Legolas said, drawing himself up a stool and sitting on it. "The warders will hear. I have not come to take you to see the King."

Nemir glared at him. "Who are you, then? And why are you here?"

After a moment's hesitation, Legolas decided on the truth. He reached up and lowered his hood.

"I am Legolas, and the King must not know that I have been here."

Nemir's eyebrows rose. "Legolas? The Elven-lord of Ithilien?" Legolas nodded. "_And_ the son of the Elven-king of Eryn Lasgalen. I have learnt my history, you see. I know perfectly well that you are one of the King's closest friends. Why would I want to speak to you, Prince Legolas, when I have refused to speak to him?"

Legolas frowned. "Aragorn knows nothing of my visit here. I suppose I will have to tell him eventually, but... I thought you might be willing to speak to me when you heard that I have seen your sister."

"Nórui? How is she?" Nemir asked anxiously.

"Very upset, because she is convinced that you confessed to a crime you did not commit."

"She should not say that," Nemir whispered. "I know what I am doing."

"I find myself doubting that. Men seldom know what they are doing." Legolas paused. "In any case, Lord Nemir, your sister did not seem to me to be a fool. If she believes you are innocent, I am inclined to believe her. Why then did you confess? Lying to the King's justices is a crime."

"A worse crime than murder?"

"Sometimes."

Nemir nodded. "Perhaps I should explain."

"That is why I am here."

"But – you must understand – you must not tell anyone what I am going to tell you now. Not even the King."

"Not without your leave," Legolas assented.

"Then I can tell you – Nórui must have told you what happened that night? At least, she must have told you that she was in her dressing-room, and she heard the noise... Prince Legolas, she does not know that I saw her. After I went to bed, I wanted – oh, how can I explain? They say you have known the Queen for centuries beyond mortal comprehension and she has been as a sister to you. And your friendship with the King is well-known. But if you thought he was making her unhappy..."

Legolas nodded slowly. "Go on."

"Idhren was a friend of mine, but I had not seen him since before I went to Rohan – Nórui told you about that? Yes... And when I went to see them, she seemed – well, not unhappy, but she was not as happy as I have known her to be in the past. And there was an air of malice about the house and the family. I did not understand, because Idhren has always been a kind man, and I could not believe that he was mistreating her. But she is my sister – I had to speak to her of it. I went upstairs, and I saw her go into the bedroom she shared with Idhren – the bedroom, Prince Legolas, not her dressing-room. And later, when she said she had not seen him since dinner..."

"How did you know it was the bedroom? Have you been in the house often?"

"That part of it, only once before. But she could _not_ have been going into her dressing-room. That is in the opposite corridor. Of that, at least, I am certain. If she was in his bedroom –"

"It may have been for a perfectly innocent reason. Perhaps she forgot she went in, or she went in and did not find him there."

"Perhaps – but I could not take that risk," Nemir said softly. "She is my sister, Prince Legolas. She would have told _me_ if she had been inside – unless –"

"Will you give me leave to tell the King and Queen? It may be that somebody other than your sister is responsible for Idhren's murder. It would be terrible if you sacrificed yourself to protect someone who does not deserve it."

"I cannot take that chance."

"Lord Nemir, do _you_ believe your sister killed her husband?"

"No – no, but others might not see it that way."

"Trust me, then. Let me tell Aragorn and Arwen what you have told me." Legolas heard distant footsteps, and quickly pulled up his hood again. "They will be here in a minute. Please."

"Will you promise me something?"

"What?"

"Do not tell Nórui why I confessed. And if you – if you find that she is guilty... I will not ask you to let her go; I know that is too much to ask. But send her to my father. He will ensure that she stays on his estates and does no harm to anybody."

Legolas nodded slowly. "I think Aragorn will consent to that. He will have no wish to grieve Lord Beron by subjecting either of his children to a public trial. But I think, Lord Nemir, that it will not come to that. You have said yourself that you believe Lady Nórui is innocent of any wrongdoing."

"Then you have my leave to tell the King."

Before Legolas could respond, two guards came in. They gave angry exclamations upon seeing him, each seizing one of his arms. Legolas let them drag him from the room, not trying to resist. Just as they pulled him out the door, he heard Nemir say, "If you ever want to speak to me again, you will not find me unwilling."

Instead of taking him back the way he had come, the guards hauled him down a passage in the opposite direction.

"I do not know who you are or how you got in," one of them grunted, "but I do not doubt that _he_ will want to see you. And put you right, too! Sneaking into the holding cells and talking to a self-confessed murderer!"

They opened a door at the end of the passage and shoved him through it.

"Found him in the holding cells, my prince," one of them said. "Talking to young Nemir. Don't know why, but I'd bet he isn't up to any good. Dangerous, too, from the look of it. Do you want us to stay?"

The young man sitting at a desk flipping through the pages of a voluminous document looked up. Legolas was _very_ relieved to see that it was Eldarion.

"You may go," Eldarion said. The men left, slamming the door behind them. After they had gone, the young man went on, "Who are you?"

For a moment Legolas stared in shock. Then he remembered that his hood was still up. He lowered it.

Eldarion raised one eyebrow, looking, if he had only known it, uncannily like his grandfather.

"If the date of your birth were not an indisputable, recorded fact, I would think that you were not even old enough to be allowed outdoors on your own. Sneaking into the _prison_? Unarmed? Have you any idea how dangerous that is?"

"Impudent child," Legolas muttered. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, I will have you know. What are _you _doing here, if it comes to that?"

Eldarion rolled his eyes. "I had to see some records. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I need to be back in Arwen's sitting-room before Estel comes in for lunch."

The young man laughed. "_Ada_ is right. Elves have no sense of time. You have no hope of that... unless..." He shrugged and got to his feet. "They will not miss me for an hour or so. Come."

Eldarion opened a door in the wall that Legolas had never even noticed before. It led outdoors. The Elf-prince followed the young man to a large, ornate stone bench set against the outer wall.

"Two men to pull it from the wall," Eldarion said, eyeing the bench. "Or one Elf."

With a curious glance at Eldarion, Legolas grasped the bench and tugged. It came with surprising ease, tilting forward to reveal a hole in the wall.

"Have you ever noticed that on the other side of the wall, just here, there is a gatehouse? There used to be a gate on this side of the building, but they walled it over because it was difficult to guard so many entrances. If you go inside, you will notice that it is far smaller than it should be." Eldarion gestured at the hole.

"You want me to go in _there_?" Legolas asked, appalled.

"Not alone." Eldarion gave Legolas a light push. "I will come with you."

"But –"

"Trust me," the young man said calmly. "I know how Elves feel about tunnels, especially tunnels like this, but I promise you, it is perfectly safe. I have used it several times. I will be with you."

Legolas sighed and lowered himself into the hole. "You are just as bad as your father."

He found himself standing on what looked like a floor laid with large white paving-stones. Ahead of him, a tunnel snaked forward into the darkness. He shivered, and suddenly there was a warm hand grasping his.

"I am going to shut the entrance," Eldarion said, his voice echoing in the enclosed space. "Otherwise the guards will think a prisoner has escaped and follow us. I can open it from the inside easily enough when I come back."

Legolas nodded. A moment later, he heard a grating sound, and then the tunnel was plunged in pitch blackness.

The Elf took several deep breaths, willing himself to stay calm, while his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Evidently some light was filtering in from somewhere, because in a minute or so he could see the twists and turns of the tunnel and the pale stones beneath his feet.

"Come," Eldarion murmured. "This will not take long."

* * *

Half an hour later, Eldarion pushed at a rough stone in the tunnel wall. It swung outwards, revealing a passage that Legolas recognized as the one leading to Aragorn's audience chamber.

"You can find your way from here," Eldarion said, smiling.

Legolas stared at him. "You are going back? _Alone?_"

The young man laughed at his horror. "I will be fine – I have done it more times than I can count. I do not have your Sindarin aversion to enclosed spaces. But I _will_ want to hear the whole story later."

Legolas, grinning at him, stepped out into the corridor and hurried to Arwen's sitting-room.

Arwen and Gimli were still playing their game. In fact, it seemed to Legolas that no more than three moves had been made in all the time that he had been away.

"At last," Arwen said, not looking up from the board. "Gimli was beginning to worry."

"Worry?" the Dwarf grunted. "Certainly _not_. If the Elf wants to get himself killed, what concern is it of mine? I never agreed to be responsible for him. Idiot child if ever I saw one! If you ask _me_, Aragorn should just _let_ him get himself killed. That would be a relief to _everyone_."

* * *

As soon as he took his place at the head of the table, Aragorn noticed something odd in his wife's manner. He did not comment on it, but when he turned to Legolas to raise a quizzical eyebrow and found his friend just as restless as Arwen, he frowned. He said nothing until his daughters had left the table. Then he addressed Gimli.

"What did they do?"

"I think I will let them explain themselves," Gimli growled, glaring at Legolas over the rim of his large flagon of ale. With his beard beginning to acquire a frosting of white, he looked like nothing so much as a stern and disapproving uncle.

Legolas glared back at him before turning to Aragorn with an expression so eager to please that the man laughed.

"When you look at me like that, Elfling, it _always_ means you have done something absurdly foolish and you are afraid I will tell your father. What is it _this_ time?"

A quick glance was exchanged between Legolas and Arwen, one that Aragorn did not miss. Then, hesitantly, Legolas said, "We thought that Nemir might refuse to speak to you. After all, he has steadfastly refused to see his sister all this time."

"Go on."

"So I thought – that is – surely it was better not to present him with a choice at all? You, of course, are King of Gondor, and so you cannot do such a thing without being accused of tyranny. I, on the other hand –"

"Tell me _now_, and I will _consider_ not reporting it to your father."

Legolas sighed deeply. "I spoke to Nemir. I went to the prison –"

"The guards let you _in_? They have strict instructions not to let you go anywhere dangerous within the city! Especially not –"

"It was not their fault," Legolas said quickly. "I sneaked in. In any case, that is irrelevant. The point, Estel, is what Nemir had to say."

Aragorn groaned.

"Thousands of Elves in Middle-earth, and I have to make friends with the only one who will enter a prison by stealth – an activity, I might remind you, which has in the past nearly resulted in you being killed – and speak to a man held on suspicion of murder, and _then_ tell me that his actions are irrelevant. Well, I suppose I will have to hear the story. Get on with it. What did Nemir tell you?"

Legolas recounted the tale to the accompaniment of Arwen's enthusiastic nods and more than one sceptical mutter from Gimli.

When he had finished, Aragorn shook his head.

"I suppose we will _have_ to look into this, or neither of you will give me any peace. I cannot imagine how we are going to manage it, though. I am the King; I cannot be seen to be interfering in the affairs of the city guards in a matter that is outwardly so straightforward. It will undermine their authority. Since the two of you want this, the two of you can think of something."

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	3. Under False Pretences

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to Tolkien.

Thanks to AtlantisGirl12, Escape my reality, Sarahbarr17, ilysia, Silivren Tinu, ObiBettina7, Wtiger5, ShakNali, LunaQuetzal, Thranduils Heart And Soul, Ohtar Vicky, yenneffer and RadioactiveSquirrel for reviewing the last chapter.

I'm very sorry about the long delay in posting this – blame it on the holiday season! I hope everybody who celebrates it had a lovely Christmas, and I wish each of you a joyous and peaceful 2010. *hugs*

My heartfelt gratitude goes to Silivren Tinu, who helped me resolve a very difficult question while I was writing this chapter. ;-)

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass, for working on this even during the holiday week.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Under False Pretences**

"How did I let the two of you talk me into this?" Aragorn grumbled, staring disconsolately at his reflection in the mirror.

He was clad once more in the garb of the Dúnedain, his old shirt still fitting his lean form perfectly. Yet he was not the same man he had been: fifty years of kingship had left lines of care upon his brow and around his eyes, and his beard had more silver in it than the last time he had worn these clothes.

"I think you look very dashing," Arwen murmured, looking at him with a smile that made his heart skip several beats. "I did not fall in love with you when you were King of Gondor and Arnor, _meleth_."

Aragorn smiled back at her. "Dearly though I would love to stay here with you for the rest of the day," he said ruefully, "I had better go down before your idiot friend takes it into his thimble-sized brain to leave without me."

Arwen chuckled. "_Your_ friend, Estel. While he is dressing himself in abominably dusty and ill-fitting garments and trying to get dirt under his fingernails so that he can look like one of you, he is _your_ friend."

"Are you certain Eldarion will be all right?"

"He will be fine. I will be here to help him. I am more worried about you and Legolas. I begin to think that this is not a very good idea."

"It was your idea."

Arwen waved a dismissive hand. She attempted to smooth down Aragorn's hopelessly crumpled shirt, straightened his cloak, scowled at the state of his boots, and finally pronounced herself satisfied. They left the room and went to find Legolas, who had also been trying to turn himself into a Ranger – but, in his case, with very little success.

Gimli, who was with him, turned to Aragorn and Arwen as they entered with the words, "It's hopeless."

Looking at his Elven friend, Aragorn had to agree. What Legolas had described as his oldest and most disreputable shirt was cleaner than anything Aragorn had possessed in his Ranger days. He had hidden his hair and his ears under his hood, but, although he had transferred his arrows to a rough-hewn quiver of the kind favoured by the Dúnedain, he had flatly refused to abandon his Elven-bow for something a Man might carry.

"How do I look?" he demanded enthusiastically, turning to Aragorn and Arwen.

"Like an Elf in disguise," Arwen said frankly.

"You had better have one of my old shirts," Aragorn said. "And I can lend you a cloak, as well. Perhaps a different pair of boots. In fact, _mellon nîn_, it might be best if you just come with me and let me decide on your wardrobe."

* * *

"Are you looking forward to this?" Aragorn asked as he turned Legolas this way and that to check for any telltale signs of Elvish-ness.

"What are you talking about?"

"_This_, Legolas. Going adventuring. It is the kind of thing we might have done before the Quest – before everything. I have been wondering if I am not too old, now." He looked at the mirror, but with regret this time. The changes time had wrought on him seemed much more drastic when he stood beside the Elf. "The last time we were together and unknown they thought I was your older brother. This time... Legolas, every time I stand before this mirror with Arwen, I realize the enormity of the sacrifice I have asked of her."

"She makes it willingly," Legolas said. "Perhaps even joyfully; I cannot imagine that she considers it a sacrifice to journey with you past the circles of the world. Why are you saying these things?"

"I do not know," Aragorn confessed. "Only – I was wondering – I have heard you and my brothers speaking of centuries-old battles as though they were recent history, and of late I find myself thinking of the events of my childhood as in the distant past. When I was younger I thought it would be so easy, so natural, to think as Elves do. I have often wondered if you have regretted being my friend."

"Why would I?"

"You will come to grief from it."

Legolas, not even bothering to answer that remark, wrapped an arm around the Man's shoulders comfortingly as he gazed into the reflection in the mirror.

"You may console yourself with one thought," he said finally. "You now look sufficiently older than me that in places where they do not know us – where we are going now, for instance – you may with impunity order me about and know that I have no choice but to obey or risk giving away our disguise."

Aragorn snorted with sudden, helpless laughter.

"Obey? _You?_ I must tell your father that you have learnt a new word."

* * *

"I have told everyone that I wish to buy some land near my father's estates," Nórui said, looking down at some papers she held. "I will tell them that you are the steward of one of my father's smaller and more distant estates, and his assistant. That will explain the weapons. You should be able to go around the house without arousing suspicion, because we are having extensive repairs made to the upper storeys, and there are stonemasons going in and out of all the rooms."

"Stonemason?" Legolas asked with fascination. "Is that a Man who wishes to be an honorary Dwarf?"

Aragorn rolled his eyes.

"Questions like that, Legolas, are the reason why _you _are the assistant. You will have to forgive him, Lady Nórui. He has always been like this."

Nórui shook her head, but she looked amused.

"Be careful," was all she said. "If there is a murderer in the house, he will not hesitate to strike again."

"Who else lives here, Lady Nórui?" Legolas asked.

Nórui seemed to consider for a moment.

"Idhren's brother, Doron," she said at last. "Along with his wife and their three children. Also his sister, Bainmeril, but she will not be here much longer. She is to be married in three months' time. My mother-in-law is also here at the moment, although she usually lives on her husband's estate in the west. But you cannot suspect any of them! They were all very fond of Idhren."

Legolas, with his inborn Sindarin abhorrence for kinslaying, looked as though he agreed with that sentiment, but Aragorn, with far more experience, only nodded in a noncommittal way.

"Are there any servants?"

"Yes, but they are all trusted – they have worked for Idhren's family for years."

"Lady Nórui," Aragorn said carefully, "do you know of anybody who may have disliked your husband, or had a grudge against him? Or somebody who gained from his death?"

Nórui hesitated again and finally shook her head.

"I really should not say anything to prejudice you against anyone. Nobody gains from Idhren's death in any way – other than me, I suppose. Most of his customers were on excellent terms with him. This is an old business. Idhren's family has been selling wine for many generations."

"I suppose that is all we need for the present," Aragorn said slowly. "Is there anything we should know before you introduce us to your household?"

Nórui shrugged slender shoulders. "I have told them that you are outlanders, which will explain many things. For the rest, be careful." Her voice trembled slightly as she went on. "We are still in mourning for Idhren, so you will not find as many people about as usual. That should work to your advantage if you want to search any rooms, but it will also mean that you will find it more difficult to explain yourselves if you are caught."

She led the way out of the small room that served for her study. Aragorn held Legolas back long enough to whisper, "She clearly has no idea how peculiar Elves can be," before he followed.

Nórui led them out of her study, which was just off the main entrance hall of her home, up a flight of graceful stone stairs. The first landing they came to was broad, the floor polished to a mirror-like sheen. From there two separate flights of stairs led further up, each to a different part of the first floor.

She indicated the one on the left.

"Some antechambers and studies, the children's schoolrooms, and some rooms used by my husband's assistants. None of those rooms is ever locked; you may go there whenever you please." But she did not take them there, leading them instead up the right-hand staircase. "There are guest bedrooms here. Nemir was using the one at the end. I have told Hama to give you the two just before that on either side. They are out of the way; nobody will disturb you there."

She walked down the corridor ahead of them. At the end, she stopped and pushed two doors open.

"I thought you might like the one on the right," she told Legolas. "The windows open onto the garden, which you might prefer to the courtyard view." She handed Aragorn the papers she had been carrying. "These are the plans of the house, my king... But I suppose I should call you something else, now?"

"Call me Longshanks," Aragorn said, with the ghost of a smile. "That is an odd name, but I am used to it, and they can put its strangeness down to my being an outlander. And Legolas can be..." He paused, and then brightened with a happy thought. "Trotter. Legolas can be Trotter."

"_Trotter?_" Legolas demanded incredulously. "That is not even a name!"

"Of course it is a name, _mellon-nîn_. I have heard of it among both Hobbits and Men in Eriador. And what could possibly be less like the name of an Elf? Nobody will suspect a thing!"

"I should like to see myself letting you call me Trotter! You will do nothing of the kind!"

Aragorn heaved a deep sigh, shooting Legolas a glance of mingled exasperation and affection.

"That would have been perfect, you know. Nobody will _ever_ associate 'Trotter' with the fabled warrior-prince of the Woodland Realm." A dangerous gleam came into Legolas' eye, and he went on hastily, "But if you do not like it, I will think of something else. Do you like the name 'Hawkeye'?"

After a moment of doubtful silence, Legolas nodded.

"I could accept that."

"Good." Aragorn turned to the mistress of the house. "There you have it, Lady Nórui. He is Hawkeye. If anybody asks you _why_ he should call himself Hawkeye when most people have normal names like Trotter, you can say that his parents named him Trotter but he changed his name in a moment of foolishness and is now too stubborn to change it back."

Nórui laughed, slightly regretfully.

"I will have tea sent to you; dinner will be in the hall downstairs. I will introduce you to the family then. Until you have met them, I would advise you not to try any exploring."

* * *

Arwen sat in the antechamber off her bedroom, frowning in thought. Her grey eyes flickered back and forth from the window to an open book on her lap. Finally, with a sigh, she shut the book and got to her feet.

She pulled on a dark, concealing cloak, hurried out of the room and went down to the library. A few inquiries there took her to another room, equally large but with far more people in it. Several looked like clerks; they sat writing at individual tables, frequently with several men sitting with them and supplying them with information. She looked around for someone who was free, and spotted the clerk farthest from the door turning the pages of a book idly.

She went to him and sat down opposite. He looked up at her, saying, "Yes?" in a bored voice.

Arwen hesitated, wondering how to phrase her question. The issue of inheritance was not one that occurred naturally to Elves. Since coming to Gondor she had learnt, of course, that Men sometimes took great pains to determine who should have their wealth and property after they died, but she had never given much thought to the _process_.

"My children," she said at last, wishing that, even after all these years, her voice did not sound strange when she spoke Westron. "I want to decide – after I die, who shall inherit what."

The clerk nodded, clearly taking her for an ignorant peasant.

"A will, you mean? You wish to make one?"

Arwen nodded vigorously.

"You must decide what you wish to leave to whom," the clerk said in a mechanical monotone. "Then come back here with two witnesses – people of good character, who do not benefit from the terms of your will. We will copy it out twice, and you must put your name before your witnesses. Then you may have one copy, and we will keep the other."

"Keep it?"

He made an impatient gesture.

"For the King's records, so that, if something should happen to _your_ copy, we will still have one here." Evidently taking pity on her, he added, "I do not have much time to explain now, but if you return tomorrow, early in the morning, someone will be able to help you write it."

Arwen left, concealing a triumphant smile beneath her hood.

When she returned to her antechamber, she found two people waiting for her – two people she had not expected in the least.

* * *

"Well? What do you think?"

Aragorn shot his friend an exasperated look.

"We have barely been here an hour, and we have not left this room. How am I to think anything? I think you are right about Nórui, though: she does not seem like one who would murder, not a premeditated murder like that. In anger, perhaps, if she felt somebody was threatening her or somebody she cared for."

"But she would not deliberately create a diversion so that she could stab her husband," Legolas finished. "That is true."

"That does not mean we can rule her out completely," Aragorn warned. "The diversion may have been coincidence. She might have been in her husband's room and quarrelled with him. We will not know until we know more about her."

Legolas shrugged.

"You are always too careful, Ranger."

"And you are always too foolish, Elf. What are you going to do about dinner? You cannot go _there_ cloaked and hooded."

"I will pull my hair over my ears. They will not notice."

Aragorn was about to answer, but there was a knock at the door. With a warning glance to Legolas to stay silent, he got to his feet and went to open it. A man servant with a tray stood outside.

He bowed politely to Aragorn.

"Good afternoon, my lord. Lady Nórui told me that you and the young man would want tea." He laid the tray on a table. "I am Hama, the butler. I provisioned your chambers with everything I thought you might need. If you want anything further, you can ring the bell."

"Thank you," Aragorn said politely. When Hama had gone, he turned to Legolas again. "We need a plan, _mellon-nîn_. I think it would be best if I spent my time speaking to people – the family, the servants – to find out what they know. If you try to get information out of them you will give yourself away in ten minutes. While I am doing that, you can try to search the upper floors – every room, even the empty ones, thoroughly. You can be far more silent than any Man, even a Ranger, and you will be able to clamber in and out of the windows if necessary."

Legolas nodded.

"That seems sensible." He went to the table on which Hama had placed the tray, picked up an iced cake, and examined it carefully. He took a cautious bite, nodded with evident satisfaction, and ate the rest. "It appears," he said, turning to Aragorn with a smile, "that dinner will not be an _entirely_ difficult meal to endure."

"If you are not going to complain endlessly about the quality of Mannish cooking, it will certainly be a more _peaceful_ meal for me."

* * *

"Faramir!" Arwen said in delight. "Éowyn! We were not expecting you for weeks."

"I know," Éowyn said, smiling. "But we could not stay in Ithilien when we knew Minas Tirith would be in a frenzy of preparation for the celebrations. Faramir has been impatient to leave for days."

Faramir laughed and nodded.

"I cannot deny it. There has been very little activity in Ithilien for weeks. With Legolas away, nearly all the Elves went to visit kin in Eryn Lasgalen, and we are so used to having them that it now seems quite... barren... when there are so few of them." There was a brief pause. "I understand that most of them plan to spend the next few weeks there, leaving only when King Thranduil rides for Minas Tirith. They will accompany him as far as Ithilien, for the most part, although I believe Legolas' friends intend to come to Minas Tirith with the Elven-king."

Arwen smiled, scarcely able to conceal her delight. The joys of her life were numerous, but she missed Elven companionship, and she would enjoy having several of her kin in the city. Her enthusiasm affected Faramir and Éowyn, and, when Gimli joined them some time later, they were talking eagerly of the plans for the celebration.

With Gimli's appearance, Faramir enquired about Aragorn and Legolas.

"_Those_ two are off having an _adventure_," Gimli snorted. "Nobody would think the Elf can number his years by the hundred, the way he jumps at the chance of doing something ridiculous. And I don't think Aragorn has even considered the consequences – the Elven-king will be in the city soon, and if he has only a dozen companions they will be a dozen of his finest warriors, and what will he say if he finds that his son has been murdered in an alley?"

Faramir and Éowyn looked to Arwen for an explanation.

"They are investigating a murder," Arwen explained. "And that reminds me, Faramir, there is something I must ask you. I believe there are documents called _wills_... And that these wills for everyone in Gondor are stored somewhere."

"In one of the lower halls of the library," Faramir said. "They are kept there; as far as I know, they have been kept there for centuries. It is next to impossible to _find_ anything there, though, unless you are one of the clerks. Nothing is ever thrown out: there are thousands of them."

"I cannot tell the clerks – Estel is right, we cannot be _seen_ to interfere. It would look as though I had no faith in the guard captains. Is there any way I can get in without their knowing?"

"There is a hidden passage from the end of this very corridor, if I remember correctly. There is no guard on it; I think Boromir and I may have been the last people to use it. We discovered it one day, entirely by accident, when we had snuck into the throne room and – but that is not important! The thing is, even if you _do_ get in, you will have to find the document, and that could take days or weeks unless you have some help." At Arwen's questioning glance, he shook his head regretfully. "I am too old now to go fumbling through secret passages – my eyesight is not what it used to be; I would not be able to read in the dimness of the hall in any case."

Arwen hid her concern. She knew nothing of how Men aged: until her arrival in Minas Tirith, her only experience of what mortals called 'old' had been of Mithrandir. Mithrandir had been grey-bearded and wrinkled on the day she had first seen him, and had continued being grey-bearded and wrinkled through the centuries.

"Perhaps you could take Eldarion with you," Éowyn suggested. "You and he can find the likeliest-looking chests and bring them back, as many as the five of us can go through in one night. You can take them back in the morning."

"We have not yet told Eldarion," Arwen confessed. "He has taken to being protective and disapproving, and he would definitely have objected to Aragorn and Legolas disguising themselves and roaming the streets in pursuit of a murderer."

Faramir kept a straight face with difficulty.

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	4. NightTime Adventures

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Tolkien. Nothing is mine.

Thanks to ObiBettina7, Thranduils Heart And Soul, daisymall13, perfect person, Silivren Tinu, White Wolf1, invisigoth3, LunaQuetzal, Dragnfly Net, yenneffer, Ethurill and Sarahbarr17 for reviewing.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass. *hugs*

* * *

**Chapter 4: Night-Time Adventures**

"My brother-in-law, Doron," Nórui said. "And this is his wife; Rosiriel, may I present Longshanks?"

Aragorn bowed politely. Rosiriel, a startlingly beautiful woman with masses of curling dark hair and eyes the colour of midnight, said, "I am pleased to meet you... Longshanks. That is an unusual name."

"My parents are from Eriador, my lady," Aragorn said. "It is a common name there. This is my assistant, Hawkeye. We are from one of Lord Beron's northern estates."

"Hawkeye," Rosiriel said slowly, her eyes lingering on Legolas with something very like fascination. His ears were well concealed by his hair, and he showed no other outward sign of his race, but he flushed all the same, dropping his eyes and mumbling something unintelligible. "My children have all gone to bed – they do not eat dinner with us. But you will be able to meet them tomorrow."

She went to sit beside her husband.

The next person to whom Nórui introduced them was a slender woman, around thirty-five years of age, with fair hair in a thick braid down her back.

The woman did not wait for Aragorn and Legolas to be presented to her, but stepped forward and inclined her head formally.

"I am Bainmeril," she said. "Nórui's sister-in-law. I hope you will enjoy your time with us."

They waited some moments in the antechamber before they were finally joined by Nórui's mother-in-law Nínim. She had fair hair like her daughter, mingled now with silver. She was graceful and had clearly once been lovely; she paused only to nod to the visitors before leading them into the dining room.

They sat at a long table with Nínim at one end and Nórui at the other. Conversation flowed smoothly, not noticeably constrained by the presence of outsiders, shifting from trade matters to politics to the impending celebrations of the fiftieth anniversary of the coronation of King Elessar. Aragorn joined in it cheerfully, but Legolas, who had spent most of the afternoon listening to a lecture on the importance of staying silent, spoke only when a remark was directly addressed to him. Aragorn could tell how difficult it was for his friend to curb his natural exuberance; with a mixture of sympathy and amusement, he patted Legolas' hand under the table.

"I am looking forward to learning more about your business while I am here," he told Doron.

Doron laughed.

"It is not as exciting as all that, I promise you. A tradesman's life is dull. I should have thought you had far more exciting stories to tell."

"Stories of how a horse went lame, perhaps, or of how I rise early every morning and check whether my lord's cows are still fat and his fields green. No, I have a quiet life in the country, my lord. You must hear so many things living in Minas Tirith."

"I do hear some gossip from customers," Doron said. "But it was my brother who heard the tales of court. Idhren was fond of such stories, and people were always willing to tell them to him – important people, as well, not merely the idle stablehands and butlers who gossip with me." He paused, hiding his face in his winecup. When he spoke again, there was a tremor in his voice. "It will be difficult to manage without him; he was the one who understood trade."

Aragorn, feeling a stab of sympathy for Doron, changed the subject.

* * *

Eldarion shook his head again.

"I _still_ cannot believe you and _Ada_ did not tell me. I would never have allowed it!" His mother raised an eyebrow in what, he had been assured, was an uncanny imitation of Lady Celebrían when one of her children displeased her. He fell silent, only muttering, as he led the way on through the passage, "At least Legolas is with him. He will keep _Ada_ out of trouble."

Arwen stifled a giggle and made a mental note to repeat that remark to Aragorn, Legolas and her brothers later.

"Here we are," Eldarion said at last, pushing open a pale grey door that was barely distinguishable from the stone around it. Arwen followed him through it and stopped short in dismay. The room was huge, filled with massive stone shelves that held what looked like thousands of chests. Faramir had, if anything, been optimistic in his assessment.

"Do not worry," her son said, seeing her expression. "It is easier than it looks. They are organized by year, and in alphabetical order. It may take a few nights, but no more than that. If it is here, we will find it."

He walked through the room, looking at the names and numbers scrawled on each shelf, before he finally stopped in front of one.

"You said Nórui and Idhren were only recently married? We should start with the most recent records, then; he might have drafted a new will after the wedding."

* * *

It was late enough that even Aragorn was asleep. Legolas briefly considered climbing out the window and using the ivy crawling over the house to help him get to the floor above, but he decided against it. While it would be far more interesting to use the window, he had no desire to be spotted by an over-zealous guard.

He slipped out of his room and up the stairs, silent as a wraith. He leapt onto the staircase railing to avoid treading on any steps that might creak. It was slippery beneath his feet, and steeply angled, but it presented no problems to an Elf accustomed to scrambling through the topmost branches of trees in high winds. In moments he was on the floor above. He looked up and down the corridor for a moment before making his way to the end.

The apartment at the end, he knew from the plans Nórui had given Aragorn, belonged to Nínim. Immediately after that was Bainmeril's, and then Idhren and Nórui's own, empty now because she could not bear to sleep in the room in which her husband had been murdered.

Legolas tried the door. It opened at once, with no noise, into a tastefully-decorated antechamber. Legolas opened the cupboards and drawers, finding a fistful of papers. It took him some time to read them, written in the Mannish script as they all were, but eventually he deciphered enough to know that they were only old bills and agreements, probably brought up from Idhren's study.

He went into the bedroom. It was starkly empty: Nórui's possessions had been removed from it, and the furniture draped with thick white sheets.

He went to the bed first and twitched the sheet aside. Beneath it, the mattress was bare, stripped of pillows and linen, and with a dark, streaky stain in the centre. Legolas had been in enough battles to know at once what the stain was. His mouth twisted with distaste as he bent forward to examine it closely. It told him nothing other than that Idhren had been stabbed in his bed; with a sigh, Legolas replaced the sheet and began examining the rest of the room.

A large rectangular piece of furniture under an untidily-flung sheet was obviously a chest of drawers. Legolas left that to the end and went over everything else. There were chairs, similar to those in his room downstairs; a fully-stocked writing-table over which someone had upset a bottle of black ink, obliterating the writing on the few papers lying on it; and a triangular night-stand in one corner.

Legolas glanced at the papers, struggling to make out what they were through the dark smudges that covered them. Most appeared to be trade-related papers: several bore the marks of various merchants and lords of Gondor, a few were from Rohan, and Legolas thought he could just make out the seal of Eryn Lasgalen under a signature that looked like it belonged to Istuion, the seneschal. The one document that _did_ catch his interest was a letter, but once glance told him that it was from Nórui, probably written during their courtship. He blushed and folded it up with the others.

Looking up from the table, he stared around the room.

The little door in the wall beside the bed was so well-concealed that Legolas almost missed it. It was of a colour with the wall, set so flush that only Elven eyes could have seen its gossamer-thin outline.

Legolas put his hands to the door and pushed. He heard a spring click somewhere, and the door swung outwards. The space behind it was narrow. He put his hand in to feel around and realized, with a start, that the door concealed not a storage space but a _tunnel_. Legolas could not imagine what the purpose of the tunnel could be, though: it was a _very_ narrow passage and it seemed to go straight down.

He paused, knowing Aragorn would not approve of what he was about to do. He had no way of knowing where the tunnel led and if he would be able to find his way back from wherever it was. But he also knew that he would have a far easier time of it than Aragorn. If the tunnel tapered anywhere, his friend might easily get stuck – or worse.

Legolas looked into the dark, steeply-sloping space with the feeling, familiar from his earliest memories of childhood, that he was about to do something that would get him in a great deal of trouble.

Chuckling, the young Elf let himself feet-first into the tunnel.

His mirth was short-lived. Very quickly he realized that the floor was far more slippery than it looked, with no footholds or handholds of any kind. He found himself sliding down, gaining momentum, slowed only by the occasional turn.

Legolas had a moment of cold terror when he wondered what would happen if the tunnel went on and on _forever_, if he was forced to journey endlessly through the crushing darkness, unable to stop himself, never to see the sunlight or feel the breeze again. The walls seemed to press in on him relentlessly; he scrabbled wildly for purchase on the stone and succeeded only in skinning his fingertips.

Then, suddenly, he felt his feet thrust into empty space. Before he could stop himself, he had been flung out of the tunnel and was lying in a gasping heap on something cold, hard and slightly damp.

His body adjusted to the change long before he did. By the time he managed to push himself up to his knees, he had registered the faint heady fragrance in the room, taken in the imposing bulk of wooden barrels lining it from floor to ceiling, and knew that he was in the wine cellar.

He tried to get to his feet. He realized at once that he had turned his ankle in the fall. It did not hurt much, and it would heal in a day or two, but in the meantime there would be no walking on railings and leaping into trees. With a grimace that was more due to frustration than pain, Legolas pushed himself up and limped to the door. Predictably, it was locked. He swore under his breath and settled down on the floor to wait. Surely, _surely_ somebody would come in the morning.

* * *

"This is hopeless!" Gimli barked, dropping a tightly-rolled scroll back into the chest. "We have been at this most of the night – and I do not know about you, my queen, but I am no Elf to be doing this every night! How are we ever going to find anything?"

"We will find something, Master Gimli," Eldarion said calmly. "We have checked three years' worth of records already – and they have told us something important."

"Really?" Gimli muttered. "What? I thought we found nothing."

"Precisely. We found _nothing_. That means either Idhren did not write a new will after his wedding – or someone removed it."

"How could anybody remove it?" Éowyn protested. "There are clerks there all day!"

"And they frequently become so busy that they have no time to watch who is coming and going. It would not have been easy, Lady Éowyn, but it would certainly have been _possible_. It should be easy enough to find out if Idhren _did_ write a will after his wedding – he is an important enough man that the clerk who worked on it would be likely to remember. If he did, then it is probable that the person who killed him is the same person who removed the will – the person who benefitted under his old will."

The others were silent while they digested this. Then Faramir said, "We have no time to lose, I know, but Gimli has a point. Queen Arwen cannot search decades' worth of records on her own and we cannot sit up night after night to help her."

"If only the record we needed were not so _recent_..." Eldarion murmured. "We cannot take too many recent documents out during the day: their absence will certainly be noticed."

"Is there no legitimate reason for wanting to look at it?" Arwen asked. "Something we can tell the clerks so that they will find it for us?"

"I know one or two of them well," Eldarion offered. "I can ask them to locate it: they will be discreet, and they will not enquire after the reason. But we cannot rely on the will alone – it will be circumstantial evidence at best. There must be something else we can do... Does anybody know anything about Idhren?"

Arwen shook her head regretfully, but Faramir chimed in with, "I know something of him... His father was an acquaintance of Boromir's, although I must confess I did not care for the man very much. He supplied our family, though, and my father liked to taste the wines before buying them, so I met him several times. I have not spoken to him since Éowyn and I went to Ithilien, but I heard that he married a noblewoman several years his junior – that would be Lady Nórui, I suppose. Idhren had a reputation for fair dealing, unlike his father."

"Did he have any enemies?"

"If he made some in his trade, I do not know of it. But..." Faramir frowned in thought. "I vaguely remember hearing once that the only son of one of his servants was killed while abroad on work for him. It was an accident, nothing Idhren could have prevented, but perhaps it is held against him."

"We can ask Aragorn and the Elf to find out who it was," Gimli suggested. "They are in the best place to do that. Is there anything else?"

"Political enemies?" Éowyn suggested, but Eldarion shook his head.

"He was not important enough... We must consider his family, though, his siblings and – I know you will object to this, _Naneth_ – his wife. Yes, I know!" he said, forestalling Arwen's objection. "It is quite likely that she had nothing to do with it – if she did, why would she _ask_ you to investigate? – but we have to consider every possibility. She may have been unhappy."

* * *

Aragorn did not know what had woken him, but he sat up in bed, awake, all senses alert, one hand stretched out to his sword. The room was dark: since it faced inwards, looking over the courtyard, not even starlight could filter through the open window.

He grasped his sword, got out of bed, and padded silently to the door. He opened it the merest crack. Legolas' door opposite was shut, but Aragorn did not expect that his friend was in his room. Elves needed very little rest, after all, and the opportunity to explore the house when everybody else was abed was far too good to be forgone.

Then he heard it – soft voices from below.

Aragorn crept out of his room and down the stairs, his bare feet making no noise on the cool stone. Halfway down the stairs he stopped short. He could see two figures below, standing in the main doorway, dark against the flickering light from the guards' torches outside. One was clearly a woman, slender in a light dressing-gown, the other equally clearly a man.

Then the woman turned and he saw her face clearly – Bainmeril.

He drew back into the shadows as Bainmeril led the man into the house. They did not come up the stairs, for which he was thankful, instead passing beneath them to another door that Aragorn had not noticed before. Bainmeril opened it, and he saw that it led into the courtyard.

With silent steps, he went back up the stairs and into his room. He opened the window and leaned out, knowing that they were unlikely to look up and, even if they did, they would not spot him in the darkness.

Bainmeril and her companion were almost directly below him, talking. They spoke softly, but their voices carried in the still night air and Aragorn could hear every word. What he _did_ hear made him blush at first, and then smile sympathetically. With a not-quite-pleasant start, he wondered whether Legolas and his brothers had ever leaned out of windows listening to _him_ whispering with Arwen.

About to withdraw, he hesitated. A moment later he heard the man say, "Idhren's death solves everything." Giving up all ideas of delicate retreat, Aragorn listened for all he was worth.

"You must not talk like that!" Bainmeril said furiously. "If somebody hears you –"

"They will understand, my love," the man said. "I know how you cared for him. I promise you, I had nothing personal against him, but you must admit that we _will_ have an easier time now. Doron is far more amenable than he is."

"All the same," Bainmeril objected. "You should not say these things... Why are you here?"

"To speak to you, of course. I had to warn you – be careful of Nórui."

"Nórui? Why? She has always been sympathetic –"

"Perhaps, but she adored her husband, and if she finds out... I should say, rather, 'when' she finds out; I hear she is going around asking questions, so it is no longer an issue of 'if'... It will be unpleasant. You know that."

"I do not know what you expect me to do about it."

"Nothing, my love; there is nothing you _can_ do. But be careful. And now tell me more about these guests of hers."

"How did you know about them?" Bainmeril sounded surprised.

"I heard from Hama. He seems to think they are spies of some kind – whether Nórui's, or planted by another without her knowledge, he does not know." His voice changed. "Your family has never dabbled in politics, I know, but you must remember that Nórui's father is an important member of court, and her family was influential even before the great War. Now that she lives here, intrigue will come to the doorstep, whether anybody wants it or not."

"I do not like it. I do not... understand it."

"I know, but it cannot be helped. That is why you must be careful of her. She may never have lived in Minas Tirith before, but she is nobody's fool. We must keep the knowledge from her as long as we can."

"I see that," Bainmeril said, sounding troubled. "I do, but I do not like it. It is not right."

* * *

Legolas had almost begun to doze off when he heard footsteps outside. He started up, knowing it was too early for anybody to be in the wine cellar on legitimate business. With some difficulty because of his ankle, he clambered onto the nearest stack of barrels and settled down on top, out of sight.

The door opened and two men came in, one carrying a torch. Legolas saw his face by its flickering light – Hama. He did not know the name of the other man, although he recognized him as one of the footmen who had waited on the family at dinner.

They stopped just inside the doorway, Hama looking around suspiciously.

"There is nothing," the other man said. "You start at shadows. There is nobody here."

"I heard something," Hama replied insistently.

Legolas, who knew perfectly well that he could not possibly have made enough noise to penetrate through stone walls and be heard by Hama in his bedroom on the floor above, wondered what had woken him.

"Your wife told me you were ill at ease," the footman said. "She is worried about you. She says you have not been yourself since the old master died. If something is wrong – if there is anything I can do to help – you know I will do anything I can, Hama."

"You can do nothing," Hama said, a sharp edge of bitterness in his voice. "Do you think I do not know that they talk about me? Do you think I cannot guess what they say in the lower hall? I have heard the whispers, when people have not silenced themselves quickly enough. I know what everybody thinks."

"Hama –"

"And there is no point in my denying it, is there? Master Idhren himself did not entirely believe me when I told him I held him blameless. Why should anybody believe me now?"

"Hama, resentment is natural – it was your _son_, after all –"

"I know that!" Hama snapped. "I do not blame the master. I _never_ blamed him. Now come. I want to check behind the barrels."

Shaking his head, the footman followed Hama to the back of the room. Legolas wanted to stay and listen, but he knew he might not have another chance to slip out unnoticed. He dropped from his position, landing, despite his injured ankle, without the slightest noise to give him away. With one last look into the darkness, he left the wine cellar and made his way up the stairs to his bedroom.

* * *

*snicker* And _this_ is where it starts to get interesting.

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	5. A Cup of Wine

**Disclaimer:** Everything still belongs to Tolkien.

Thanks to Alanic, Ohtar Vicky, ilysia, yenneffer, daisymall13, Ocean's Nocturne of the COCA, Thranduils Heart And Soul, Wtiger5, Silivren Tinu, ObiBettina7, Petra, White Wolf1, invisigoth3, RadioactiveSquirrel and LunaQuetzal for reviewing Chapter 4.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass. *g*

* * *

**Chapter 5: A Cup of Wine**

Aragorn was up early.

He dressed quickly, leaving off his cloak because of the warmth of the day and shaving with a cursoriness that he was certain would draw criticism from Legolas. He glanced out the window at the courtyard, empty and grey in the cold light before dawn. Then, smiling to himself, he left his room.

He did not bother to knock before slipping into Legolas' room opposite. He was certain his friend would not be asleep.

Sure enough, he found the Elf lounging in his bed wide awake, reading a book by the light of a single lamp. His left leg was tucked under him, his right stretched out in a manner that made Aragorn frown at it in deep suspicion.

"What have you done to your ankle?"

"Nothing." Legolas turned a page of the book without looking up, but the pointed tips of his ears reddened. "My ankle is perfectly fine."

Aragorn snorted and, ignoring Legolas' dark look, examined the ankle. "I suppose it will heal on its own by tomorrow," he admitted, at last, grudgingly. "It does not look too bad."

"Precisely what I told you, mortal."

"No, Sinda, what _you_ told me was that it was perfectly fine."

"It _is_ perfectly fine. I can walk on it."

"You will have to. But what were you doing last night? When I told you to search the rooms, I thought that I had _finally_ found an activity that you could do without injuring yourself. Apparently I was wrong."

Legolas glared at him. "Should you not be asleep at this hour?"

"Ah, so it was something foolish. What did you do?"

"I learnt something important, perhaps." Legolas grinned at his friend. "More than one important thing. And so, I gather, did you," he added, his grin widening. "What did you find out?"

"You go first."

"I checked Idhren's bedroom. How old is this house, Estel?"

Aragorn shrugged. "Very old, I imagine. I know that it was once the home of one of the lords. His line died out and Idhren's great-grandfather bought the house."

"Then the wine cellar was not always so large?"

"No – Nórui has given us the most recent plans of the house, but we can get older ones if necessary. The wine cellar would have been far smaller in the beginning. Most of the cellars would have been used for other purposes... Storage, probably, although _some_ of them might have been used as dungeons for trespassing Dwarves."

"I will give you a silver dagger if you will repeat that to my father in my presence."

"I happen to _enjoy _being alive."

"_Two _silver daggers?"

Aragorn rolled his eyes. "You were searching Idhren's room. What did you find?"

"There is a passage that leads from his room to the wine cellar. It is a narrow and somewhat... abrupt... passage. I do not believe it is meant for people."

"Or for Elves?" Aragorn enquired wryly. "So that is what happened to your ankle. And the wine cellar was where the disturbance was. That means somebody could have gone to the wine cellar, upset the barrels, and then gone up to Idhren's room through the secret passage while everyone else was hurrying downstairs."

"I doubt it. Somebody may have come _down _it, but the passage is practically impossible to climb up. I do not believe I could do it."

"In that case, I am quite certain that no Man could. Perhaps someone came down... But we can discuss that later. I would like to see this passage for myself. If it is that narrow, a Man might not be able to fit in it, not even to go down. What else did you learn?"

Legolas related the conversation he had overheard between Hama and the footman. Aragorn listened in silence, his face growing grave.

"And I thought we had enough complications," he said, groaning, when Legolas had finished. "I suppose I had better tell you _my_ news now, although it only complicates matters further. You were not the only one eavesdropping last night, _mellon nîn_."

* * *

Aragorn stood in the courtyard, ostensibly enjoying the warm sunlight. In fact he was waiting for Doron, whom he had heard expressing the intention to go for a ride before lunchtime. The man had struck Aragorn as a reliable source of information, and a pleasant one.

He did not know where Legolas was. The Elf-prince had vanished after breakfast. Aragorn was not worried, yet: the murderer, whoever he or she was, could not know already that the strange visitors were there to investigate Idhren's death, and in any case Legolas could easily defend himself against most assailants. If anything, Aragorn reflected ruefully, Legolas had cause to worry about him. His reflexes were still sharp, for a Man, and he could best any Ranger in a sparring-match, but age had slowed him enough that Legolas and his brothers no longer suggested sparring with him; he strongly suspected that on the few recent occasions when _he_ had suggested it, the Elves had been far gentler with him than they were with each other.

One of the doors from the house opened, breaking into his musings. Doron came out alone. Aragorn inclined his head politely. "It is a fine day to ride," he noted.

"It is," Doron agreed. "Would you care to come with me? I can show you the countryside around Minas Tirith. The road is beautiful, and we may even meet some of the Elves of Ithilien riding south to join their lord. I hear he is in the city."

Aragorn made a noncommittal noise in his throat.

Doron led the way to the stables. Aragorn's own horse was there – not the horse he usually rode, which might have been recognized, but one of the fast riding horses that the royal stables kept for messengers and scouts. Aragorn saddled his horse, pausing briefly to stroke the soft white muzzle of Legolas' horse in the next stall. Nimroch, great-granddaughter of Arod, who had never felt a saddle-girth, pawed at the ground restively, eyeing Aragorn's activities with apprehension.

"This is not for you," the man whispered, amused. "Although if Legolas wants to go riding you may have to endure a saddle; he will arouse too much suspicion without one."

Nimroch snorted. Aragorn laughed softly and led his own horse out of the stable. Doron, waiting for a groom to bring out his, eyed the tall animal appreciatively.

"He must be fast."

"He is," Aragorn said, rubbing the horse's neck. "He has been trained by the Rohirrim."

Doron smiled at him. "You are a strange man, Master Longshanks." The groom brought his horse. He mounted in a quick movement, stroking the horse's mane and scratching behind its ears to calm it. "She is a feisty animal," he said, smiling. "But she has spirit, and she has served me well."

Aragorn mounted. Just in time, he remembered to pull up his hood – Doron did not know him, but the same could not be said of the guards at the gates. Anyone might recognize him, even in his Ranger's garb, and give him away by a careless word or gesture. He followed Doron out of the courtyard and through the street. Idhren's house was on the lowest level of the city; it was not long before the two men were outside the great gates. Doron took the westward road, riding briskly but not fast enough to make conversation impossible.

"How are you enjoying your stay?" he asked. "I hope you are comfortable."

"Very," Aragorn assured him. "Your house has been swift and courteous in fulfilling our every need." He hesitated, wondering how to raise the subject of Bainmeril and her presumably unsuitable lover. Finally he said, "I hope our visit does not intrude on your grief."

"How should it?" Doron asked. "You are here to help Nórui negotiate her purchase. We are businessmen, Master Longshanks. The house is in mourning, but customers still want wine. Presumably the man whose land Nórui wishes to buy wants payment. These things do not wait on grief. I assure you, we understand the exigencies that bring you here, and we do not find your presence in the least cumbersome."

Aragorn inclined his head politely. "I am glad of it, my lord."

"Your bedroom overlooks the courtyard," Doron said abruptly. Startled, Aragorn only nodded. "Then I suppose you heard Bainmeril and Amrúthor last night. I will be honest with you, Master Longshanks: I wished to speak of her. That is why I asked you to come riding with me."

Aragorn could scarcely believe his fortune. "Of course, my lord," he managed to say.

"I have counselled caution, and patience, but they will not hear me – I understand, but it is foolish of them." He paused. "Bainmeril is the youngest of us, you must understand. Idhren and I both spoilt her from her earliest childhood onwards. She has always had anything she wanted – and he gave in to her wishes far more often than I did, no matter how wild or whimsical they were. Until Amrúthor. It was not that Amrúthor was poor: Idhren would not have objected to that. But his father had been employed as one of our messengers, one of the most trusted, until Idhren found out that he was cheating customers, misrepresenting accounts and keeping the coin for himself."

He paused, and Aragorn nodded. "I understand. That must have been difficult for your brother."

"It was. Amrúthor is a good man, but Idhren could not trust him. He was certain that he and his father both held a grudge against him. That his father did is certain; Amrúthor I am inclined to absolve of blame. He has a good heart, and he is an honest man. Yet Idhren would have none of him."

"If you will pardon my asking, my lord, how do _you_ feel about him?"

Doron shrugged. "I will not deny that I would have been better pleased if Bainmeril had chosen another, but I do not dislike him as Idhren did. I will be content with her choice. Bainmeril knows that, as does Amrúthor – more than once I tried to persuade Idhren to accept him. He would not listen to me."

"And Lady Nórui?"

"Ah." Doron looked pensive. "That is why I had to speak to you. Nórui does not quite understand, you see. The trouble began long before she wed Idhren. She heard Bainmeril's version of the story, of course, and mine, but if Idhren had a flaw it was to magnify the faults of others. She is naturally inclined to give more credence to his version than to either of ours. If she were to find out that Amrúthor was here to see my sister before Idhren was cold in his grave, it might lead to some... unpleasantness. It would be best if she did not hear."

"Of course," Aragorn found himself saying. "I know how it is."

And he thought of the Evenstar of Imladris, of whispered words and precious stolen moments in the eaves of the forest.

* * *

Legolas leaned out of his window. The sun was just inching up to the meridian; other than the occasional bird swooping through the sky overhead, there was no movement. He leaned out further, smiling.

Then he heard it. A soft, ominous thud from the floor above.

He straightened. The noise had been slight, far too slight for mortal ears, but he knew he had not imagined it. There might be a normal cause for it, of course – there were bedrooms above – but some instinct told him that the noise had not been caused by a door slamming or a book falling.

He slipped out of his room and upstairs.

There was nobody in the corridor, although he could hear raised female voices from Bainmeril's room. For a moment he wondered if the noise had come from there –

Then there was another sound, an even softer one, clear and distinct, from Idhren's room.

Legolas looked around. Nobody was in sight. He tried the door to Idhren's room, found it unlocked, and slipped in. For a moment he stood looking around. Everything was as he had left it the previous night. He went into the bedroom. There, too, there was nothing suspicious: the bed lay deceptively innocent under its linen sheet; the barely-discernible black line marked the door in the wall beside it; the windows were shuttered. Yet he was certain...

Legolas shook his head. He _knew_ he had not imagined the sound, but perhaps it had been something else. Deciding that while he was here, he might as well finish the work he had left undone the previous night, he went to the chest-of-drawers.

About to lift the sheet covering it, he paused. There had been no noise, not the slightest whisper of breath, but every instinct he possessed was tingling, his senses as alert as they ever were in the thick of battle. He could almost feel eyes on him, watching his every move. Legolas was too much a warrior to ignore the warning; he turned, back to the wall, wishing furiously that he had thought to bring a weapon with him.

The room was empty.

But there was _something_. Something wrong, something that should not have been. He considered searching the room and decided against it: he had nobody to watch his back, and he did not know what other hidden passages there might be. More to the point, he had a very strong feeling that there was someone in the room at this very moment, watching him unseen, someone who could put a knife through his heart before he could stir a step – a very unnerving feeling for an Elven warrior, and one that he did not like in the least.

He sidled away from the chest-of-drawers until he felt the window behind him. He reached behind him with one hand, found the clasp, and a moment later he was crouching beneath the protruding ledge on the outside of the building.

Fortunately nobody had seen him.

Without some difficulty due to his injured ankle, Legolas clambered down, to the end of the house, and in through his own window, collapsing into a chair with a sigh of relief. He had no idea who had been in Idhren's room, but he had felt a sense of malice that had disturbed him greatly. Someone had hated Idhren enough to kill him... Hated him, Legolas had a vague idea, enough to kill _again_ – and that someone had been in the room upstairs.

The young Elf shivered. He had seen far too many battles to regard the taking of life with anything other than distaste.

Absently, he reached for the covered jug on the table and poured himself a cup of wine. He could smell it as he poured: it was strong, far stronger than whatever had been in the jug the previous night. Grimacing, Legolas sipped from the cup.

He recognized the herb at once.

Aragorn, despite his lessons in healing, had not learnt about it until reaching Minas Tirith: it did not affect Elves one way or another, so it was of no interest to Elven healers; it tasted foul, and so it was of no interest to Elven cooks. But to Men it could be deadly, as Aragorn had been warned on one of his earliest visits to the Houses of Healing. That was why the wine had been so strong-smelling: to mask the distinctive odour of the herb.

Legolas put the cup on the table and hurtled across the room, out the door, and into Aragorn's room opposite.

* * *

"_Naneth_, they have found something."

Arwen stared at Eldarion. "So soon? I did not expect any results for _days_."

The young man shrugged. "They know how to find things in the Hall of Records... That is why I suggested asking them. I do not know if you will find this useful, though." He sat down opposite her and smoothed the sheet of paper out on the table. "It is ten years old. Apparently he made it immediately after his father died. That is fine by itself, but one of the clerks distinctly remembers him making another after his wedding – they would remember, since it was so recent. They can find no sign of it, though."

"Oh." Arwen was silent for a moment. "Do they know what it said?"

Eldarion shook his head. "Idhren has – had – experience in these matters. He did not need one of them to help him draft the will. They only watched the witnesses sign and then put the paper with all the others. It is possible..." Eldarion hesitated. "It is possible that whoever killed Idhren also removed the later will."

"Whoever is named in the first will."

"That is his brother and his sister in equal part." Eldarion indicated their names in the document. "This makes it difficult. It could be either of them – or neither. I find it difficult to believe that one of them would have wanted to kill him for money when neither of them was, so far as we know, in dire need. There may have been others who bore grudges against him. Tradesmen make enemies sometimes." He paused. "Perhaps we should tell _Adar _and Legolas to look at his trade records if they can. In the meantime, there is something else..."

"What?"

"One of the clerks remembers the men who were witnesses to the second will. I have asked him to find them and bring them here. It is possible that whoever is named in the second will does not know that it is missing, or has the other copy of it – we cannot rule out the possibility."

"I do not think either of us should speak to him, though," Arwen said, frowning in thought. "Estel might do it – or Legolas; he gets more like King Thranduil by the day. But if you speak to them, that will beg the question of where your father is – and we certainly do not want anybody putting too much thought into that. The court thinks he and Legolas have gone to Eryn Lasgalen, but it is not an excuse that will stand up to detailed examination. As things stand... Perhaps Gimli or Faramir. Or both. That would cause less suspicion, and Faramir will be able to think up a suitable excuse."

* * *

"Is there something wrong, Master Hawkeye?"

Legolas, heart thumping wildly, gaped at Hama. The butler looked back at him with an expression of polite enquiry. Behind him a chambermaid stared openly with more than a hint of admiration. Legolas felt himself flush.

"I – I thought I heard something."

"You heard us."

"Oh. Yes. Yes, I see that now. I must have heard you."

"If you will pardon my asking, sir, did you not sleep well last night?"

"I slept very well, thank you."

"But your bed had not been slept in, Master Hawkeye."

Legolas suppressed a grimace. _This_ was why he did not like disguising himself as a mortal and pretending he understood their peculiar living habits. Galion would simply have assumed that he had slept in a tree and not made remarks about the state of his bedding.

"I... I slept in a chair," the young Elf improvised wildly.

"In – but the chairs are terribly uncomfortable!" Hama looked appalled. "Was the bed not to your liking? I can have the mattress changed if you do not like it."

"You must have been cold, too, in that chair," the chambermaid put in. "Right by the window it is, and your windows were wide open when I went in to clean the room. It may be spring, but there is still a stiff breeze at night. My brother caught a terrible chill just sleeping with his windows open, and you without even your blanket –"

"I was most comfortable, I assure you."

Legolas bowed and retreated to his own room, shutting the door firmly. He stayed beside it, though, listening, and as soon as he heard Hama and the chambermaid leave Aragorn's room he went back. There was a jug of wine on the table there as well.

Legolas poured a little into a cup and tasted it. Once again he tasted the herb.

He could not stay in Aragorn's room indefinitely. He emptied the jug out into the fireplace. Then, looking around to make sure nothing else looked dangerous or suspicious, he returned to his own room. He poured out the wine there as well, just in case. For a moment he stood undecided, wondering what to do next. Clearly someone had found out, or guessed, their purpose. But who?

He had a vague feeling he had seen something in Idhren's bedroom the previous night... Something that did not necessarily suggest a murderer, but had seemed wrong to him for some reason... Something that he had not even realized was out of place until a few minutes ago...

Legolas grimaced. All that had happened a few minutes ago was that he had poured out Aragorn's wine and then his own –

And he knew what it was.

He had to go back to Idhren's room at once, before whoever was there found it and destroyed it. He found a small dagger and tucked it into his belt; he would have liked to take at least his knives, but he could hardly give a satisfactory explanation for carrying hunting knives inside the house.

* * *

TBC

* * *

Of _course_ I had to end just there. ;-)

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	6. Archer on the Rooftops

**Disclaimer:** All is Tolkien's.

Thanks to Ethurill, Thranduils Heart And Soul, daisymall13, ShaolinQueen, ObiBettina7, Silivren Tinu, KyMahalei and invisigoth3 for reviewing Chapter 5.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Archer on the Rooftops**

Legolas glanced out the window. The guards had changed; the new ones were far more alert. One of them even noticed him looking and bowed formally. Legolas responded by inclining his head, and then withdrew into his room.

The Elf hesitated. There was a strong possibility that there would be chambermaids on the floor above: at any rate there would be people about. But he did not want to lose a moment. Finally he decided that it was worth the risk, left his room, and hurried down the corridor to the stairs.

He could hear childish voices raised in argument from the schoolrooms and smiled sympathetically. It had been centuries since he had been forced to spend an afternoon over his books – not counting the few occasions when his father had been exasperated enough with him to condemn him to reading the longest and most mind-numbing court document that could be located – but he could remember similar arguments in the libraries of Eryn Galen and occasionally of Imladris, and he did not doubt that his tutors did as well.

He took the stairs two at a time, restraining himself with difficulty from vaulting up over the banisters. Such time as was lost had already been lost: he should have seen it yesterday. He would gain nothing by startling some unwary footman and giving away his disguise.

As he had feared, a chambermaid stood beside the open door to Bainmeril's room. She appeared to be waiting for someone: she was leaning against the doorframe in an attitude of extreme boredom. Had her attention been occupied elsewhere, Legolas might have risked slipping past her, but she was staring up the corridor aimlessly and would probably spot him in a moment, if she had not done so already.

He opened his mouth, uncertain what explanation he could possibly give, when something about the woman's face made the words die in his throat.

Legolas did not need to feel her wrist or her throat. He had seen too many battles to be in any doubt of what he was seeing now. There was not the slightest flicker of life in the wide eyes that stared unblinking into space. His first instinct was to hurry to the woman and find out what had happened to her; in time, he remembered that he was among strangers whose ways he did not understand.

"Where is Estel when you need him?" the Elf muttered, backing slowly down the stairs. At the landing he turned and leapt neatly over the banister, landing with the slightest of thumps on the floor of the entrance hall. He felt his ankle protest and grimaced impatiently: he knew he had more important things to worry about than a sore foot, but he had a feeling Aragorn might not view the matter in the same light. He stood still for a moment, listening, and heard Nórui's voice from the courtyard. He hurried out.

Nórui was talking to one of the grooms, but as soon as she saw Legolas, she dismissed him and turned to the Elf.

"What is it? What has happened?"

"One of your maids," Legolas said: there was no time to break the news gently. "Upstairs. Dead."

Nórui's eyes widened, but she showed no other outward reaction. "Murdered?"

"I have not checked, but I fear so."

"Where?"

"Outside Lady Bainmeril's room."

* * *

"I must apologize, Master Longshanks," Doron said. "I know you did not intend to spend most of the day riding, and I assure you that was not my intent either."

Aragorn laughed. "I do not mind in the least," he assured the other man. "It is true that I had other plans for the day, but they have not suffered from the delay. And I have enjoyed myself immensely."

That last was certainly true: he had not had as good a time as he would have done with Legolas or his brothers or Faramir, but he had come very close. They had ridden through the morning and found themselves in a village, where Doron had chanced on an acquaintance who had asked them home for lunch. It had been a delicious meal, accompanied by the kind of gossip that the King was normally not privileged to hear. They were returning to Minas Tirith now, the sun already hanging low in the sky.

"You are welcome to join me at any time," Doron offered courteously. "I go riding every morning, if I can – although it seldom stretches into the entire day. There was a time when Hama went with me, but these past five years I have been riding alone."

"Hama does not ride with you now?"

"He does not care to, and I cannot blame him. His son – his only child – was killed some years ago in a bar brawl, while in Harad on an errand for Idhren. Hama has never been the same since. He disappeared for several weeks, and came back in a black mood without a word of explanation. For myself, I think he went to Harad to chase down his son's killers. He seems quiet, but his temper is vicious – and implacable if roused. But he said nothing, and Idhren deemed it wisest not to ask."

Aragorn was silent for some time in the face of this extraordinary piece of information. "Does it not trouble you?" he asked at last.

"A little, but I would be lying if I said I do not understand... I am a father, Master Longshanks."

Aragorn thought of the steely glint in Elrond's eyes when one of his children was in danger, of what his own feelings would be if someone harmed Eldarion or one of his daughters. He had to admit that Doron had a point. He could understand what Hama had done, even if he could not entirely approve.

"It must have been a terrible time for him."

"It was. His wife died not long afterwards: she had been ill, and the shock was too much for her. Hama has not been the same since. He seems to find no joy in anything; he is suspicious of everyone; he starts at shadows. It has destroyed his life." Doron hesitated. "I hope you will not misunderstand – I am not in the habit of discussing the affairs of my house with everybody I meet. But if you are Lord Beron's liege-man, you are practically a member of the household."

"Of course, my lord. You need not worry about my discretion. I quite understand."

Doron gave him a sharp look, but if he had noticed that Aragorn had not actually promised anything, he did not react. "It is late," he said softly. "We should get back in time for dinner, or they will start sending riders after us."

* * *

"Come in!"

Gimli shifted and settled more comfortably in his chair, which Aragorn had had specially built for the Dwarf's comfort, along with a writing-table of similar proportions. Faramir did not move other than to glance at Eldarion's scribbled instructions.

The man who came in was short and balding. He looked terrified.

"My lords!" he exclaimed as soon as he was in the room. "I swear I have done nothing! If someone has been telling you about the incident in the Black Kettle last month, I was barely even involved. I have nothing against Dwarves – or Elves – or anybody for that matter."

Faramir raised his eyebrows. Idhren had been a respected merchant: he had not expected that he would choose someone like this to witness his will. The man's clothes were filthy and poorly-mended, and he gave off a strong aroma of cheap liquor. Faramir imagined that Legolas, wherever he was in the city, was wrinkling his nose in Elven distaste.

"You are..." he consulted Eldarion's notes. "You are... Tomlin, from..."

"Eriador, my lord. My father was a man of Bree."

"Eriador! You are a long way from home."

"Yes, my lord – I have not been home for many years. My lord, if anyone tells you that I have been disturbing the peace – I only go to the alehouse once a week, my lord, and even then nobody can accuse me of drinking too much. But that Hama, he never liked me –"

"Hama?"

"Begging your pardon, my lord, of course you wouldn't know. Hama is the butler, down at Master Idhren's – the big house beside the gate on the first level. I have done a spot of work for Master Doron in my time, Master Idhren's brother. Hama, he sees murder everywhere and spies in everything. But if he has not complained to you..."

"Nobody has complained to me," Faramir said, making a mental note to tell the guards to enquire closely into the man's activities. "You must know that Idhren..."

"Has passed on? I know, my lord."

"Very well, then. There have been two different versions of Idhren's will found in the Hall of Records... There have been rats among the stacks," Faramir went on, calmly slandering the head clerk's capable mouser. "We cannot read the dates or the signatures. But it was recalled that you were witness to Idhren's more recent will."

"Oh – you want to know what was in it, my lord?" Tomlin looked stricken. "But I cannot tell you that!"

"Why not?" Faramir demanded, his brows drawing together.

"I did not mean it that way, my lord! I – I cannot tell you, because I do not know myself. I never knew what was in the will: I was told that all I had to bear witness to was the fact that Master Idhren wrote it and signed it himself under no threat. I cannot read in any case."

"Oh."

Faramir glanced at Gimli, who cleared his throat and spoke for the first time. "Master Tomlin, you must have _some_ idea what was in the will. It is only normal to be curious, and surely Idhren would have told you, since he trusted you enough to ask you to stand witness in the first place."

"I truly do not know, my lord. If I did... I want nothing more than to see Master Idhren's estate disposed as he would wish. Surely someone in the family..."

"They have not brought it before us yet," Faramir said slowly. "Nor will they, until the formal period of mourning is over. I expect they know, but we thought it would be best to be doubly certain. However, if you do not know, there is nothing to be done about it. Thank you for coming here, Tomlin."

The man bowed and left. As soon as he was gone, Arwen emerged from the corner where she had been sitting, cloaked and unseen.

"What do you think?" she asked.

Faramir shrugged.

"I cannot tell if he is lying... But if he is, why? What interest does he have in the contents of the will remaining a secret? And if not... We are no further along. Perhaps Aragorn and Legolas are having better fortune."

Before either Arwen or Gimli could reply, a guard burst into the room, chest heaving.

"My queen, a message – I was told it was urgent."

He held out a tiny scroll. Arwen took it, noting the single arrow imprinted in a circle of green wax. Legolas tended to use the seal of Thranduil's archers for private communications, since the sigil of Ithilien was too well-known in Minas Tirith. She broke the seal with her thumb, unrolled it quickly, and read.

_Arwen_

_Another woman is dead. Murder._

_I am going to investigate. I am telling Estel that I am coming up to see you because otherwise he will try to stop me. You know how he is. Do not tell him. Do not __ever__ tell my father. Do not worry._

_Legolas_

Arwen stared.

"That... That _Sinda_!"

* * *

Legolas, bow, knives and quiver strapped in place over a hooded cloak he had abstracted from among Aragorn's possessions, stepped into the Black Kettle. It was the kind of place that he had frequented in his most horrified imaginings: the public room reeked of stale liquor and pipeweed, dirt was thickly encrusted on the tables, the windows were rimed over, and the patrons all appeared to be attempting to pick each other's pockets.

The Elf, one hand clutching his cloak under his chin to make sure his hood did not fall, sidled over to an empty stool near the bar. As he perched himself on it, the barman grunted, "What are you having?"

"I... err... ale," Legolas said faintly. "I will have... ale."

A moment later, a filthy tankard foaming with something that smelt noxious was placed in front of him. Legolas nearly yelped: Aragorn, Faramir and Éomer had all coaxed him to drink ale in the past, but it had never smelt as foul as this.

He took a cautious sip. Only a very strong instinct of self-preservation kept him from gagging.

"Are you new?" Legolas turned in the direction of the sound: the man who had spoken was eyeing him with mild belligerence tempered with curiosity. "I've not seen you here before. Where are you from?"

"My name is Hawkeye," the Elf-prince replied pleasantly. "This is my first visit to Minas Tirith. I do not have the honour of your acquaintance..."

The man's expression changed to sheer... had Legolas not known better, he would have called it disbelief.

"The honour of my acquaintance?" he repeated. "You want the honour of my acquaintance, do you?" He nudged the person beside him and pointed at Legolas. "He wants the _honour_ of my _acquaintance_, he says."

"Where's he from?"

"Not from Minas Tirith, with speech like that." The man hesitated for a moment, and then, with a sigh, said, "I do not know why I am bothering to give you advice, but... You do not look like you belong here. Hawkeye, is it? You had best go home, Hawkeye. This is no place for one such as you. Why did you even come here?"

"I..." Legolas paused. Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir had all impressed upon him that certain subjects had to be introduced into conversation gradually, but he was certain that they had not been referring to occasions when the other person introduced them for him. "I am looking for Garrow the blacksmith. I was told that he is frequently to be found here. It is imperative that I speak with him."

"_Garrow?_" The man stared at him, and then returned to his drink with a shake of his head. "Well, please yourself. He is not here yet, but he will probably come soon. Why do you want to meet him? No, never mind, do not answer that. It is probably healthiest for me not to know."

With which extraordinary (to Legolas' mind) statement, the Man returned to his ale and refused to be drawn into making any further remarks.

The Elf tried to engage the other patrons in conversation and met with even less success. They all responded to his friendly greetings with a mixture of disbelief and unfriendliness, which rapidly turned into taciturnity when Legolas mentioned his errand. Finally he gave up, paid for his barely-touched drink – sorting through his coins with a deftness that bespoke hours of careful training by Aragorn – and left. He had not gone more than a few paces from the inn door when he heard a noise in the shadows.

He turned, but he could see nobody. The only movement was from a sleepy-eyed dog that wagged its tail when Legolas looked at it.

He heard the unmistakable sound of steel being unsheathed: his warrior's instincts took over and he dived smoothly to the ground. The knife that would have lodged itself in his ribs found his shoulder instead. He wrenched it out quickly and scrambled to his feet, an arrow ready in his hand.

But when he saw the shadow scrambling wildly away over the roof, he did not shoot. Far better to take his assailant alive.

He hoisted himself onto the roof, ignoring the burning in his shoulder. He could see the man at the other edge of the roof. Legolas shouted out an instruction to stay; the man glanced at the Elf, shook his head, and, with an audible grunt, leapt onto the stable roof two feet away. He landed on his feet and promptly ran towards the other side, gaining momentum for the larger leap to the roof of the next building.

Legolas smiled grimly. He had spent his childhood in the topmost branches of trees, frequently in raging thunderstorms. The rooftops of Minas Tirith posed little difficulty.

* * *

"It is true, I am afraid." Nórui's eyes flickered to Aragorn, but she kept her attention on Doron. "The girl was murdered. There is no doubt about that. We do not yet know who did it, but we do have an idea how."

Doron groaned. "Why do I think I will not like this?"

"She was standing in the doorway to Bainmeril's apartments, facing the corridor. Someone must have come up behind her, silently. She was stabbed in the back. She did not make a sound – or at least, no sound that anybody heard – so we can hope that she was at least granted the mercy of a quick death. The knife was still in the wound." She nodded at Aragorn. "Master Hawkeye has gone to the palace to enquire after the smith who made it, although I do not know if he will be able to tell us anything. I was about to send Hama for the City Guard – I was only waiting for you to return. I will do it now."

"Have you told her family?"

"She had only an old father, Hama told me. We have sent for him; your mother says she knows him and will tell him herself. I do not know if there is anything else we should do..."

"I will take care of it," Doron said gently. "Do not worry. You have enough grief at the moment without anything to add to it. I am only sorry I was not here when it happened... How did you find out? And where is Rosiriel? Does she know of this?"

"Yes. She is upstairs, with your mother – the sight of the blood upset her."

Doron pursed his lips but said nothing. He nodded to Aragorn a trifle apologetically, patted Nórui's shoulder, and hurried up the stairs. Once he was gone, Nórui said, "This proves _one_ thing – Nemir is innocent. He could not have killed the maid while safely locked up in prison."

"You think the two murders are connected, my lady?"

"What doubt is there of that? Who would want to murder a harmless servant girl unless she saw something or heard something that was dangerous to someone? Your friend... the Elf... thinks that she may have ` into Idhren's room and disturbed someone. I hope he will be all right," she added.

"I hope so too, my lady," Aragorn said fervently. "In the meantime, may I see her body? The girl herself may have something to tell us about her murderer."

"Yes, of course." Nórui hesitated. "I do not like to tell you your business, but please be careful, my lord. I told Prince Legolas the same thing. If the same person is behind both Idhren's death and the chambermaids, we are dealing with a merciless killer who will probably try to strike again."

Aragorn nodded slowly. "Do you know who was in the house at the time of the murder?"

"To an extent. Prince Legolas was the one who found her. Doron was with you, of course. The children were with their tutor: fortunately they heard nothing. Rosiriel was in her room, although as soon as she saw the girl's body she went to my mother-in-law's room to have hysterics. Bainmeril was down in the wine cellar. But anyone might have come in, killed her, and gone, the accountants or the servants or even one of the guards."

"We will find out what has happened, my lady," Aragorn promised.

* * *

Legolas had replaced his bow in its sheath and drawn his knives instead. He had one disadvantage: he wanted his quarry alive. The man seemed to have absolutely no concern for his own life; he leapt from rooftop to rooftop as carelessly as though he was _trying_ to fall. It was clear that he did not know the city. Legolas was afraid that if this went on much longer the man would take a tumble from sheer exhaustion.

As though in answer to the Elf's prayers, the man found himself at last at a dead end. On three sides he was surrounded by taller buildings. From the fourth, Legolas advanced cautiously. His shoulder ached far more than a simple stab wound warranted. He wanted to avoid a fight if it was at all possible.

"I will not hurt you," he said. "I only want to know who sent you." The man backed away. Legolas, with a sigh, put away his knives and drew his bow. If he had to incapacitate the man with an arrow to the leg, he would, although he had a feeling that was not the way to get any answers. "Do not move, and nothing unpleasant need happen. I only want to talk."

"No," the man hissed, backing away. His voice sounded familiar, but Legolas could not place it.

"I do not want to hurt you," he said. "But I must talk to you."

Without warning, the man sprang at him, drawing a short sword as he did. Legolas' countless years of training took over at once; almost without his knowledge his bow was in its sheath and his knives in his hands again, crossed in front of his face to parry the man's blow.

Then a slight breeze stirred the clouds that were covering the moon. In the momentary beam of moonlight, Legolas recognized his opponent's face.

"_Nemir!_" he gasped.

* * *

I think that's enough excitement for one chapter. :D

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	7. Queen of Gondor

**Disclaimer:** Nothing is mine.

Thanks to Silivren Tinu, ShaolinQueen, KyMahalei, Thranduils Heart And Soul, daisymall13, invisigoth3, ObiBettina7, White Wolf1, Lady Ambreanna, Ohtar Vicky, CrazySusan, Wtiger5 and LunaQuetzal for reviewing the last chapter.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass.

* * *

**Chapter 7: Queen of Gondor**

"I do not know if this is such a good idea," Gimli muttered, fidgeting uncomfortably. He had absolutely refused to disguise himself, pointing out that there were plenty of Dwarves in Minas Tirith these days and he was not that recognizable anyway, but Arwen had insisted on his leaving his helmet, armour and axe behind.

"I do not care if people will recognize them or not," she had said in a tone that brooked no disobedience. "We are not going to get into any fights. We want to avoid being seen or heard, and clanking metal makes noise."

Gimli had found that he could not protest, which was why he now stood in a simple dark cloak in the shadows of an alley, with Arwen beside him. Even with the encumbrance of her gown she moved more silently than Gimli possibly could. So far they had encountered nobody, for which the Dwarf was grateful. The Queen of Gondor seemed not to understand the concept of pickpockets and footpads: she was calmly insistent that if they bothered nobody, nobody would bother them.

Gimli was now _certain _that all Elves were equally mad.

Tomlin, whom they were following, had just gone into a disreputable-looking inn called the Black Kettle. Arwen had sent Eldarion, who had insisted on coming with them, to find the back entrance and watch it while she and Gimli watched the front.

"What makes you so certain that this will work?" Gimli muttered. "_Even _if he is trying to protect someone, why meet him here?"

"Tomlin will want to warn whomever he is trying to protect. And this is the perfect place for him to meet that person. Guards cannot enter unnoticed; nobody can, except those who frequent it. Plenty of men choose not to show their faces. There is noise enough to mask a discreet conversation."

The cry of a screech owl sounded, eerie and mournful in the night. Arwen jerked. "That is Eldarion's signal – they must be going out the back entrance. We will have to be quick if we are going to catch them. Hurry!"

* * *

Aragorn drew the sheet back over the body and turned to Nórui. She looked a little queasy, but she had not flinched from the sight.

"My lady, perhaps we should leave this place," he said gently. "We can talk outside."

She nodded. "Shall I send for Doron? He will want to know as well – oh, he need not know who you are, but I can tell him you have some experience in these matters."

Aragorn nodded and got to his feet. He ushered Nórui out of the room. The girl had been laid in one of the empty cellars, because it was far cooler there; very soon the embalmers would arrive to prepare her for burial. They went upstairs and found Doron in his study.

"I asked Master Longshanks to examine her body," Nórui said without preamble. "He knows something of healing and of warcraft."

"Did you find anything?" Doron asked anxiously.

"In a sense."

Aragorn paused and glanced at Nórui, who said quickly, "You need not fear to turn my stomach, Master Longshanks. I have tended to men's wounds before."

"She was stabbed in the back," Aragorn said. "That much you know. But there are two wounds. You may not have noticed the second – it was concealed by the folds of her dress. The first one, the one that killed her, is clean – precise. It has bled very little. The second is much more savage. It would have needed great strength to deliver the blow that caused it, and probably a great deal of anger as well."

"And the second one was delivered after she was dead?" Nórui asked, her brow furrowing. "Why?"

"A few minutes after the first, at least... I cannot imagine why, my lady, unless her murderer had a personal grudge against her – or wanted to make it appear as though he did. And one more thing I can tell you: it was a man who killed her. Either a man or a woman might have stabbed her the first time, but there are very few mortal women who would have head strength enough for the second."

"How can you tell that a few minutes passed between the two blows?" Doron demanded, sounding suspicious.

"I have some experience in these matters, my lord," Aragorn said smoothly. "The second injury has not bled as much as would be expected. By the time the blow was struck, she was already dead. It may have been more than a few minutes, of course, but I cannot imagine that the murderer would want to loiter in the room long after he had killed her, simply to stab her a second time."

"I do not like this," Doron said. He hesitated, and added, "You may think me callous, Master Longshanks, but what worries me most is that there was a man – a murderer – in Bainmeril's room, and none of us knew of it. If she had been in it at the time..." He shivered.

"I do not think you callous in the least, my lord. Lady Bainmeril is your sister; it is natural for you to worry about her safety."

"We will have to increase our guard," Nórui put in. "And I will tell the maids not to go anywhere alone. I do not think they will in any case. They are frightened."

* * *

"What are you doing? How did you escape? And _why_? Surely you know that this will make everyone certain of your guilt!"

"Everyone is certain of my guilt in any case, Prince Legolas," Nemir said grimly. "It can hardly get worse."

"_How?_" Legolas demanded. Nemir hesitated. "Trust me. I want to help you – or, at least, I wanted to until you started throwing knives at me –"

"That was not me!" Nemir snapped. Then he drew a shaky breath. "I am sorry. I know my escaping prison seems suspicious, and my presence here does not help, but I assure you that I was not the one who tried to kill you. That knife came from one of the upper windows of the inn."

"Why did you run away?"

"That was foolish," Nemir admitted. "I wanted to get to Nórui – quickly. But perhaps I should tell you everything." Legolas nodded, and Nemir sank onto the low wall that ran around the roof. "You do not look well," he said, looking up at the Elf. "How badly are you injured?"

"It is just a scrape," Legolas replied dismissively. "Tell me what happened."

"One of Nórui's servants came and told me of the chambermaid's death. I..." He shivered. "I know you tell me Nórui was not the one who killed Idhren, and in my heart I want to believe you, but... I must speak to her. I must protect her from herself if necessary." He smiled faintly. "She brought her cousin with her, a man who looks vaguely like me and was happy to take my place for a few days in return for a pouch of gold. Oh, I will not let the man hang!" he added hastily, seeing Legolas frown. "If it comes to that, I will confess."

Legolas shook his head: he was too much his father's son to entirely approve, but he was also too much his father's son to worry about what could not be helped. He sat beside Nemir, feeling suddenly weary.

"Are you certain you are all right?" Nemir asked.

"I am fine. What are you planning to do now?"

"I must see my sister," Nemir said. "I do not know what that will achieve, but I have a feeling that it is important... With your permission, of course," he added wryly. "If you plan to see me back in my cell, there is little I can do to prevent you."

"Go," Legolas said, shaking his head again. "Speak to Lady Nórui. Perhaps you will see something that we cannot."

"Where are you going?"

Legolas tried to think, although his brain was slightly clouded. Returning to the inn would serve no purpose: whoever had attacked him was surely long gone. And he _had_ to search Idhren's room again. But there was also the matter of speaking to the person who had made the knife... No, two knives now. The one that had struck him he had thrust into his belt without examining, but he had seen enough to know that it was nearly identical to the first.

"I will come with you," he said at last.

* * *

Not for the first time in his life, Gimli found himself panting as he jogged several feet behind an Elf and a Man intent on a chase. He had to admit, little though he liked it, that Arwen had been right about the armour: had he been wearing it, he would have made enough noise to alert their quarry a league away. As it was, his boots sounded unnaturally loud on the cobbles compared to Arwen's inaudible footsteps and Eldarion's Ranger-trained tread.

Tomlin had emerged from the inn with a strange man, light of hair and dark of eye. They had parted a few feet from the inn, and it had taken barely a moment for Arwen, Gimli and Eldarion to decide that they would follow the stranger together. Unfortunately for Gimli, the stranger had a horse, which he rode at a brisk canter. Fortunately for Gimli, the clopping of its hooves drowned out all the noise he made.

They chased the rider for what seemed hours – although the passage of the stars proclaimed it barely fifteen minutes – before he pulled up outside a smithy. His three pursuers promptly ducked into the shadows of a doorway.

As they watched, he dismounted and rapped sharply on the door. He waited several moments, staring up at the upper storeys of the building, before knocking again, more loudly.

This time there was a response: a lamp flickered to life in one of the windows. The stranger stepped away from the door, tapping his foot impatiently. A minute later, there was the sound of bolts being drawn, and the door opened.

"Master Garrow! We were not expecting you back until –"

"What took you so long, boy?" the man demanded. "I have told you to sleep in the forge when I am out!" He raised a hand impatiently, cutting off any explanation. "Remember that next time. For now I have work for you. Take my horse to the stable first. Quickly! This cannot wait!"

A young boy emerged from the doorway, took the horse's reins, and led it through a high arch beside the building. He returned at once, and he and his master disappeared inside, the door slamming shut behind them.

Arwen and Eldarion exchanged a glance; without a word, they slipped from their hiding-place and drew noiselessly up to the smithy window. Gimli followed as quietly as he could. They could hear raised voices inside, one distinctly recognizable as that of their quarry, the other probably that of the child. Words were indistinguishable, though, at least for the Dwarf. He did not know if his companions could understand any more.

Just as they were about to leave, they heard somebody running down the street. Arwen and Eldarion promptly drew their cloaks more closely about themselves, Gimli lowered his head, and they crouched still and motionless in the shadows beneath the window.

To their surprise, it was a woman who came into view. She was slender and pale, wearing a heavy cloak for a warm night. The man inside heard her as well: he came to the window and peered out for a moment before going to open the door.

"You are here!" he called, and his tone was very different from the one he had used to the boy. "I was beginning to worry. What happened?"

"Worry?" the woman asked. "I know my way around now –"

"No, you do not. You have barely lived here a year – you are an outlander still. That is how the people look at you – an outlander with an outlander's ways. And even for one born in Minas Tirith, the city can be dangerous at night. Your mistress knows this; I cannot imagine why she would send for you at this hour."

"She did not send for me," the woman replied calmly. "It was your friend Paet's wife. She has had her baby at last – it will not live long, poor thing. And what are you doing up at this hour, with the smell of liquor still on you?"

The door shut on the last word; they heard voices dwindling away as the woman and the man went upstairs. The boy did not go with them: they could hear him humming tunelessly. Evidently he had been given some work.

"I do not think he will go out again," Eldarion said softly, and Arwen nodded agreement.

"We should leave."

* * *

Aragorn went wearily up the stairs. There had been a time when he could have ridden all day without a rest, and then gone on all night, but, little though he liked to admit it, that time was past. He was still in excellent health, wiry and robust, but it had been a long day. He wanted to go to bed.

He knew he would not be able to sleep, at least until Legolas returned: he was more than a little worried about his friend.

He went to his room, not bothering to help himself to a cup of spiced wine from the jug on one of the tables, not bothering to wash the smell of horse, not even bothering to take off his boots before he flung himself down on his bed.

He felt something hard under his pillow and reached for it. His questing fingers found an arrow. When he drew it out, he saw that it was from Legolas' quiver, one of the long, green-fletched arrows used by the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen and Ithilien. He smiled slightly. Legolas was not normally in the habit of wrapping notes around arrows in such a melodramatic fashion.

He quickly unrolled the thin paper that had been wound around the arrow shaft.

He read the note.

Then he cursed softly and fluently in Dwarvish, got to his feet, and went to Legolas' room across the passage.

* * *

"A Dwarf breathes so loudly I could shoot you in the dark," came the voice, as smooth and as deadly as steel being drawn. Then it added, with a hint of laughter that entirely spoilt the effect, "_Blindfolded_, too."

Eldarion stifled a chuckle, Arwen snickered, and Gimli, staring up in vain at the rooftops all around them, snarled softly "_Elf!_ If you can hear my breathing you can hear my voice! You get down here this instant! Do you hear me? You get down here!"

There was muted laughter, a barely-audible thump, and then, from several feet behind Gimli, Legolas said, "Still presenting a perfect target, Master Dwarf."

"You stop aiming at my back and listen to me, Legolas!" Gimli snapped, turning. "We have matters to discuss that are far more urgent than your inadequate marksmanship. We must speak – who is that?"

"His name is Nemir," Legolas said, grinning at Arwen and ignoring Eldarion's exclamation of horror. "Do not look so appalled; he is not going to murder anyone. At least, I _think_ he is not. I am still not entirely certain that he did not try to murder me –"

"Your shoulder!" Eldarion exclaimed suddenly. "You are injured."

"It is just a scratch, and, as Gimli correctly pointed out, we have far more urgent matters to discuss. I do not know if you are in the habit of conducting private conversations in the middle of the street in Minas Tirith. We are far more civilized in –"

"Not _now_," Arwen warned. "We have urgent matters to discuss, and this is too open a place. But it would be as well if Estel were with us... No, Legolas, you had best not go. They know you as a young man from the country, and it will arouse too much suspicion if you go there with a bloodstained tunic. You and Gimli and Eldarion had best go up to the palace and wait – wait with Faramir and Éowyn, if they are still awake; they have both been wanting to see you. Master Nemir, what are your plans?"

Nemir gave a start, blushed furiously at being addressed directly by his queen, and said, "I had planned to go to Nórui, but if you object –"

"No," Arwen said. "That will be perfect. You can show me the way. I must see my husband." She turned to her companions. "Go back, all of you." Legolas crossed his arms and glared at her, looking so much like his father that she nearly giggled. "Do not make a fuss, Elfling; if I have to tell stories of your childhood indiscretions to make you leave, I will."

It was Legolas' turn to blush.

Arwen watched them go with the hint of a smile; as soon as they were out of sight, she turned to Nemir. He bowed slightly and began to walk.

"If it would not trouble you," she said as she joined him, "I would hear your account of what happened on the night your brother-in-law was murdered. I have heard it from Legolas, of course, but while I have the greatest respect for his judgement in most matters, he can sometimes be entirely too trusting."

Nemir shot her a frightened glance. "Do you not believe that I am telling the truth, my queen?"

"I believe your sister: I am willing to trust her judgement of your character. But you may be concealing the truth without being a murderer. Perhaps there is someone else you wish to protect."

"I promise you there is no such consideration, my queen. What I told Prince Legolas was the truth. And – I expect he will tell you what happened as soon as you go back to the palace – I was not the one who tried to kill him. _Somebody_ did –"

"Somebody who is a fool," Arwen said grimly, "if he or she believed that it would be so easy. I cannot believe anyone would attempt to kill an Elven-warrior with nothing more than a single knife. I am only surprised Legolas did not catch the true culprit. But this is not want I want to discuss with you. Tell me why you believe your sister capable of murder."

"I do not want to," Nemir said, very softly. "And in my heart I do _not_. But I know what I saw, my queen. I saw her go into Idhren's room when I knew he was there, and later I heard her claim that she had not been in it for hours. She might have a reason for concealing the truth from others, but she would never hide anything from me unless..." He shook his head. "Oh, I do not know what I am saying. Nórui would never murder anyone, and if she had reason – if Idhren had been making her unhappy – she would have told _me_ about it, at least. I do not know what to believe."

"Well, do not worry so," Arwen replied, feeling sorry for him. "From what I have seen of Nórui, I do not believe her capable of murder... And even if the worst you fear comes to pass, truth must surely be better than falsehood."

Nemir smiled sadly. "Would _you_ say so, my queen, if it were one of the twin Elven-lords of Imladris? Would _they_ say so if..." He shivered. "What would you have me do, my queen?"

"Talk to your sister. There must be an explanation for all this – perhaps we have been doing this wrong. We have all of us been trying to find out anything and everything we could, but there must be something we are ignoring or forgetting." She hesitated and then added, "If you can, bring your sister to the palace when you have said whatever you must say to her in private. Perhaps if we all sit and discuss this, it will help. Do not come by the main entrance; use the path through the Queen's Garden and show this to the guards." She slipped a ring off her finger and handed it to him. "Ask one of them to bring you to my husband's study."

"Yes, my queen."

They walked on in silence, broken suddenly and abruptly by running footsteps on the path before them. Arwen looked up, Nemir drew his sword; but a glance proved that there was no need for anxiety.

"Estel!" Arwen exclaimed even as Nemir sheathed his sword and bowed.

"_Arwen!_" Aragorn said, in even greater astonishment, not even noticing the other man. "What are you doing here?"

"I was coming to find you. We must speak. Legolas is –"

"Where is Legolas?" Aragorn demanded anxiously. "Have you seen him? Is he alive?"

"Not fifteen minutes past. He is alive – very much so, although he will probably need stitches in his shoulder _again_. I only hope Thranduil does not hear of it. He has gone to the palace with Gimli and Eldarion, and they must all be waiting for us now."

Aragorn let out a sigh of relief. "I feared – but that does not matter." He glared at his wife. "What are you doing here alone at this time of night? Anything might happen to you. This is not the safest part of the city, and you do not even carry a weapon! I cannot concentrate on what I must do if you force me to spend all my time worrying about your safety!"

"Do not be ridiculous, Estel. I am fine. Now let us go." She turned, saying, as she did, "What made you think Legolas had come to harm?"

"There was a letter in my room, threatening me, and claiming that my companion had already been dealt with... You are certain his injury is not serious?"

"He seemed well enough."

With a nod of farewell to Nemir, she led the way up to the city's highest level.

* * *

And this time no cliffie. :D

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	8. Deliberations

**Disclaimer: **Nothing is mine.

I'm _very_ sorry for the long delay in posting this chapter. RL just _refused_ to give me a break. I'll do my best not to let this happen again.

Thanks to daisymall13, ObiBettina7, Ohtar Vicky, Silivren Tinu, ziggy3, Lady Ambreanna, CrazySusan, Sigrid Sigbjornsdotter, Destined Darkness, invisigoth3, freeladyofthesea, RadioactiveSquirrel, White Wolf1 and Elwilith for reviewing Chapter 7.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Deliberations**

"I do not like the look of this," Eldarion muttered, frowning over Legolas' shoulder. "For such a shallow cut, it is bleeding far too much. I should send for one of the healers –"

"There is no need to do anything of the kind," the Elf replied firmly. "Just tie it up and –"

"You know my mother has had a letter from your friend Saeldur?" Eldarion interrupted, wringing a cloth out in water. "He said that he will be here in a few days – along with several other Elves from Ithilien, at least two of whom, I believe, would be most seriously displeased to find out that you have been getting yourself stabbed outside disreputable taverns. If it proves impossible to keep the information concealed..."

Legolas groaned.

"Oh, very well, do what you please!" For a few moments he sat in silence, while Eldarion sent a servant to fetch whichever of the healers was on duty. Then he said, in a voice almost _too_ casual, "Have you had any word from my Elven-lord?"

Eldarion stifled his laughter, leaving the answer to Gimli.

"We had a letter from him this morning," the Dwarf said. "Well, yesterday morning I suppose it is, now. He will be here earlier than you thought. He said we could expect him within the fortnight."

Despite his very real fear of what Thranduil might have to say about his activities, Legolas could not hold back a smile. It had been far too long since he had last seen his father.

"He enclosed a note for you," Gimli went on. "I will give it to you later. And if you want to reply, you had best do it before tomorrow evening. At least then the messenger might hope to meet him _before_ he reaches Ithilien." He paused. "Saeldur, of course, has already been given a complete account of your activities. Arwen and Faramir both felt that it would be exceedingly inappropriate for them to attempt to deceive your second-in-command. I believe there were other reasons as well, and the word 'vengeance' was uttered more than once, but that need not concern you."

Legolas shook his head in despair. He did not say anything, though, letting Eldarion probe the stab wound in his arm with gentle fingers.

"I do not understand it," the young man murmured. "This seems to be no more than a simple injury... But there is something wrong with it. And you are beginning to run a fever."

"I am _fine_," Legolas insisted, but not as firmly as he would normally have done.

Eldarion shook his head, but was spared a response by the entrance of the healer.

* * *

Nórui, fast asleep in her bedroom, stirred at a sudden scraping sound. She turned over in bed and would have dozed off again, but the sound was followed by another, the muffled thump of a heavy footstep.

The events of the day had disturbed her enough that she came to full wakefulness at once. She sat up in bed, looking around for _anything_ that might be used as a weapon. One hand closed around a brass candlestick on the bedside table before a voice said, "Be at ease. It is I."

"_Nemir!_" She scrambled out of bed and took the dressing-gown that he held out to her, scarcely able to conceal her astonishment. "What are you doing here? Did they let you go?"

"No," Nemir admitted. "I stole away – but that does not matter. I had to speak to you. Nórui, I have been so worried, so terrified for you."

"And I for you," she said, going to the door to check the bolt. "But – how –"

"I had to speak to you," Nemir repeated. He sounded suddenly uncomfortable. "I must know what happened that night, Nórui."

"Which night?" Nórui asked, fumbling to light a candle.

"Let us have no concealment now. You know which night – the night Idhren was slain. What were you doing?"

"What was I doing?" Slowly, Nórui put the candle down on the nearest table, gazing into her brother's face searchingly by its flickering light. "You do not mean – you _cannot_ mean – you cannot think _I_ had anything to do with his death!"

"I do not want to, but I know you went into his room. I _saw_ you... And later you lied about it."

"_What?_"

"I saw you go into his room. I saw you! And later you said you had not been there at all! Nórui, I will support you, always. You must know that. But you have to tell me the truth. What were you doing there?"

"You are suggesting that I murdered my husband and then let you take the blame for it?"

Nemir flinched at the sudden fury in her voice, but he went on doggedly.

"I... I do not blame you in the least. Sometimes... Sometimes we are forced to do things we would never do normally. I do not pretend to understand everything, but I do know that you would have been justified in everything you did –"

"Don't you _dare_!" Nórui snapped. "If that is all the faith you have in me..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Leave."

"Nórui –"

"Go."

"Sister –"

"_Go_, or I will have the guards here!"

* * *

Legolas, who had fallen into a light doze under the influence of the drug he had been given, jerked awake when he heard the door open. It took a moment for his vision to clear; when it did, he said cheerfully, "Estel!"

"Half-witted Elfling," Aragorn muttered with something less than equal enthusiasm. He sat beside Legolas and unwrapped the healer's painstaking bandage. After a moment's examination, he nodded. "You are right, Eldarion. This is poisoned. I knew something like this would happen." He stopped and glared at Legolas. "Have I not _warned_ you not to go to inns, pubs or taverns without supervision? You are impossible!"

"I am sorry," Legolas said, his voice equable enough to arouse his friend's deepest suspicions.

Aragorn only shook his head and handed him a steaming cup.

"Here – drink this."

Legolas drank; whatever it was, it seemed to wake him up a little, and when Arwen and Gimli entered, followed by a very sleepy-looking Faramir, he was able to greet them enthusiastically.

"I did not know you had come!" he told Faramir, hiding his concern at how much the man had aged in the months since they had last met. "If you had sent me word I would have waited and ridden down with you."

"All the way from Ithilien to Minas Tirith with a half-mad woodland Elf? I thank you for the honour, Legolas, but no. Éowyn and I did very well coming here like respectable people. In any case, I hear that you have been doing more interesting things." He lowered himself into a chair. "But we have been playing our part, although I am no longer fit to run through dark alleys with you."

"What have you learnt?" Aragorn asked as he began wrapping a clean bandage around his friend's arm.

"We had hoped to ask _you_ that question," Faramir chuckled. "_Our_ quests have so far been fruitless – unless Arwen, Gimli and Eldarion were successful in their chase tonight."

"Not as successful as we would have liked," Arwen said. "But not a failure, certainly. At any rate, we know that Idhren's will is important... Oh, but this makes no sense!" she burst out. "The only person who could have any incentive to steal Idhren's will would be someone who did not want it made public for fear it would incriminate them – but that would defeat the purpose of murdering him in the first place, if treasure _was_ the reason."

She grimaced over the end of the sentence, and Legolas reached out to pat her shoulder consolingly.

"What happens if the will is not found?" he asked.

"Then, since he died childless, his property is inherited by his brother," Eldarion replied.

"But there is the matter of the maid who was killed today," Aragorn pointed out. "Doron could not possibly have had anything to do with that. He was with me the entire day. If we assume that the two murders are related – and I believe they are – then we will have to eliminate him as a suspect."

"Who _was_ in the house when the maid was killed?" Éowyn asked.

"I was," Legolas offered, eyes sparkling. "Nórui, of course... the entire family except Doron, in fact. The children were there as well, and their tutors. The servants... and I was told that two of Idhren's clerks were there, but Nórui says she can vouch for their having been in the counting-room all day. No outsiders, the guards said."

"What of the guards themselves?"

Legolas considered, and then shrugged.

"Perhaps, but why would one of the guards want to murder a chambermaid?"

"Why would anyone?" Gimli asked gruffly. "Think, Elf – what were you doing just before you found her? There must be something you saw, or heard, but did not notice... Something you remember, something that may help us."

Legolas shook his head.

"I heard noises in Idhren's room first... And then I went up, but I could not stay. But... There was the wine!" he exclaimed suddenly. "With everything else that has happened, I forgot about that. You did not drink anything in your room, did you, Estel?"

"No," Aragorn said, looking startled. "But why?"

"It was poisoned – mine as well. Oh, do not worry! It was arrowroot. It did not do me any harm. But we will have to be more careful. Somebody knows our purpose. At least they have not guessed I am an Elf."

Legolas could not keep a note of triumph out of his voice.

Aragorn smiled ruefully. "I wish that were so, Elfling, but somehow, I have my doubts. Perhaps it was meant to be in the nature of a warning. After all, everyone in the house knew I would be out riding. Besides... Look at this."

He pulled a crumpled note from his tunic and handed it to Legolas. The Elf smoothed it out and read.

_Master Longshanks –_

_I know who you are – you, and your friend the Elf. He will be dealt with today – he __has__ been dealt with by now, if you are reading this when I think you are. If you do not stop interfering in what is not your concern, you may suffer the same fate._

Legolas laughed, and Aragorn glared at him.

"I do not see what is funny about that! I was terrified that something had happened to you!"

"You surely did not take this seriously, Estel? Anyone who could write a letter like this..." He paused to read it again, chuckling to himself. "Whoever it was is surely mad, Estel. I have never read a letter like this in my life – not even the one Norgalad wrote to me last year complaining about how the archers do not take their duty seriously any more."

"I daresay the writer _is_ mad," Aragorn said grimly. "And that is why I am worried."

"Did you learn anything from Doron, my lord?" Éowyn asked, trying to divert him from a harangue on Elven recklessness.

Aragorn's smile said he knew what she was trying to do, but he answered nonetheless. "I did – something important. Two important things, in fact. The first is that Bainmeril is in love with a man of whom Idhren did not approve – but to whom Doron is at worst indifferent. The second is that Hama – he is the butler – had a son who was killed while on business for Idhren."

Legolas looked startled.

"The chambermaid who was killed – she was found just outside Bainmeril's bedroom."

"That means nothing," Arwen protested. "If Bainmeril _had_ killed the girl, she would not have been foolish enough to leave her there!"

"Besides, there was a man involved," Aragorn pointed out. "I saw two wounds, one over the other – and the second was definitely inflicted by a man, and a strong man at that. Although why anyone should want to stab the girl _after_ she was dead..."

"Perhaps the second person to stab her did not know she was already dead," Eldarion suggested. "After all, she was stabbed in the back."

"Then we are looking for _two_ murderers and not one," Legolas muttered. "But _how_? She was standing with her back to Bainmeril's door. Anyone who stabbed her in the back as she stood there must have been inside the room. No man would enter without her knowledge, even when it was empty. And if Bainmeril's lover had come in, one of the guards would surely have noticed."

"But they may not have wanted to say anything before me," Aragorn responded. "I am a stranger, after all. Amruthor _could_ have been there – but you are forgetting one thing, Legolas. There _is_ a man who might have gone in with the chambermaids, one who, we now know, may have had a reason to kill Idhren."

"Hama!"

"Precisely. Perhaps the maid heard him say something in the servants' hall – or perhaps she knew something, or suspected something, and was foolish enough to let him know."

"But why would she have told him? If she thought he was guilty of murder, she would have gone to Nórui or Doron."

"She might have seen something incriminating without realizing its meaning," Faramir pointed out. "After all, she has no reason to suspect that anyone other than Nemir was the murderer. And she might then have mentioned it to Hama in passing. He would have laughed it off, perhaps, but he would not have dared risk her telling someone who _would_ realize what it meant."

For a few minutes they sat in silence, each contemplating what had just been said. Then a sudden knock sounded at the door, startling Gimli into slopping half of his wine down his front. Aragorn, ignoring the Dwarvish curse, got up to open the door. Two guards stood outside, Nemir between them.

"My king, this man asked to be brought to your study. He said he had the Queen's leave. I believe he is lying, but I thought we should come to you."

"Thank you," Aragorn said. "He _does_ have the Queen's leave."

The guards bowed and left. Aragorn ushered Nemir into the room, quickly introducing him to Faramir and Éowyn.

"Where is your sister?" Arwen asked, offering him a cup of wine as he settled down in an armchair. "I thought you planned to bring her here as well. She might know something none of us does."

"I _had_ hoped to persuade her to come here, my queen," Nemir murmured, flushing. "But I handled it... badly. I do not believe she wants to see me at the moment." He looked up at Arwen in time to see her exchange a glance and a mirthful smile with Legolas. He turned to Aragorn questioningly, but since the King looked as curious as he felt, he assumed it was some strange Elven joke that normal people could not understand.

"Perhaps you can help us," Faramir said, giving the young man a consoling smile. "We had hoped to hear from your sister the story of _exactly_ what happened that night. But you were there as well, were you not? You will be able to tell us. And we might learn something new from your perspective."

Nemir nodded assent. Legolas, who had already heard his version of events, got up and went to the window. Gimli beckoned him over, pushed a folded sheet of paper into his hands, and said, "Your father's note. _That_ should keep you from wanting to climb out of windows with an injured shoulder in the middle of the night."

"You had it all this time and you did not tell me?"

"We needed your attention, which we would _not_ have had if we had given you this."

Legolas had to admit the truth of that statement, so, with only a half-hearted scowl at the Dwarf, he settled down on the windowsill to read his letter. It was long, as his father's letters usually were, giving him news of Eryn Lasgalen and those of his friends who had elected to stay there instead of moving to Ithilien.

At the bottom was the Elven-king's signature over a seal, pressed to the wax with far less tidiness than his seneschal would have achieved. Legolas smiled at the sight of it: Thranduil nearly always signed his own papers, whether they were letters or trade agreements, but he hated the very sight of sealing-wax. However, he had made up his mind that letters to his son were not to be given to anybody else to seal, not even to his most trusted aides. The result, as Legolas had been told by his father's friends, was that the chambermaids who cleaned the King's study were now experts in removing sealing-wax from wood and stone.

"Legolas! _Legolas!_"

Realizing with a guilty start that his name was being called, the young Elf gave his attention to the others. They were all staring at him, Nemir with curiosity, the others with varying degrees of amusement.

"Now that we have your attention," Aragorn said, grinning, "perhaps you would care to tell us what _you_ have been doing. I have told them everything that happened until this morning, but you seem to have had an extraordinarily busy day."

Legolas nodded. "Someone knows about our task. We already know that, of course, from the note you received, but I have had other proof of it. There was the secret passage..."

"What about it?" Éowyn asked.

"I went down it, you see," the Elf explained. "But I was not _expecting_ to go down, and so I had not shut it behind me. But when I went up to Idhren's room again, the door in the wall was closed. I thought at first it might have been one of the chambermaids, but I am told they do not go into that room. That is not the most important thing, though... There was a copy of a trade agreement with Eryn Lasgalen." He paused. "To the best of my knowledge, Idhren has never supplied the Woodland Realm."

Eldarion shrugged. "How many trade agreements have you actually read?"

"_Several_," Legolas said fervently. "I admit I have read few since the end of the Watchful Peace, and almost none in recent years, but if there had been an agreement with a merchant from Minas Tirith, someone would certainly have told me of it, considering the circumstances. Moreover..." He looked down at the letter in his hand. "Moreover, I did not think about it until I saw _this_, but the paper I saw in Idhren's room had been signed by Istuion."

Arwen, Aragorn and Gimli all nodded comprehension. The others looked puzzled, and Aragorn explained, "King Thranduil _always_ signs the trade agreements – well, _almost_ always; Legolas, I know, has signed a few. But Istuion never does."

"This is not because my king objects to letting his seneschal sign on his behalf," Legolas added. "It is because the seneschal enjoys making the king read the agreements before signing them. The king has been able to provide adequate reason to excuse himself from the duty only four times in the past fifty years, and each time I have found myself being compelled to read endless pages of supply specifications."

Faramir frowned. "Then you think the agreement..."

"I think the agreement never existed."

"What were the terms?" Arwen demanded.

Legolas shook his head helplessly. "Most of the document was illegible. And, as I said, I did not think anything of it when I first saw it. I realized later, but by the time I could go back for it someone had cleared away all the papers. Besides..." He shivered. "There was something wrong with the room."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone was in it," the Elf replied, eyes darkening. "I could sense great malice and hatred."

There was a moment's silence before Arwen broke it.

"We always knew where this was going to lead," she pointed out. "Someone has been murdered: someone has taken an innocent life. Trying to find such a person was never going to be entirely pleasant or tasteful." She looked around at the gathering, her grey eyes glinting with determination. "But this person has already killed twice – at least – and we have a responsibility to put an end to it before more people suffer."

* * *

TBC

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What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	9. Order and Chaos

**Disclaimer: **Nothing is mine.

I'm sorry. Again. I know it's unforgiveable, and I'm not even going to _try_ to make an excuse. The next chapter will be up sooner, I promise.

I'm actually not entirely satisfied with this chapter, so I might do a repost at some point – but for now I thought it was more important just to get it out and get the story moving again than to worry about having it perfectly. So please bear with me if there are any problems!

Many thanks to Wtiger5, KyMahalei, Daisymall13, Silivren Tinu, Sigrid Sigbjornsdotter, ObiBettina7, Ohtar Vicky, sokkergurl, LunaQuetzal, Crazy Susan, Elwilith, tearful-eye, RainingSparks and Caelhir for reviewing. I promise I won't make you wait so long again! RL's back to normal (as normal as it gets) and hopefully I can keep up with my schedule now.

* * *

**Chapter 9: Order and Chaos**

Nemir, glancing out the window and giving a sudden start, got to his feet.

"I had not realized it was so late! I must go back – to the prison," he added, in response to Aragorn's questioning glance. "A... a very good friend of mine has taken my place there, to deceive the guards. But I must return before the deception is discovered. He has risked much for my sake."

He bowed to the King and Queen, nodded to Legolas, and left.

For some moments after his departure, silence reigned. Finally Éowyn said, "Since it appears that none of us is going to get any sleep anyway, perhaps we should summarize all that we have learnt so far. It might be especially useful in the case of _some _Elves who have been too busy attending to their correspondence to participate in the discussion."

Legolas ignored her pointed glare in his direction. "Quite so," he said. "A summary. I have always said that you are exceedingly wise, Éowyn." His murmured qualifier of 'for a mortal' was so soft that only Arwen heard it; she shot him a smile of mingled amusement and exasperation but said nothing.

Eldarion began. "How many suspects do we have? Nórui – yes, Legolas, Nórui _is_ a suspect until we have conclusive proof of her innocence. And Nemir."

"Every member of Idhren's family," Faramir supplied. "His mother, his sister, his brother and sister-in-law –"

"I am surprised you have stopped short of accusing his brother's children," Legolas muttered, mouth twisted with distaste.

"Legolas, kinslaying is not as inconceivable to mortals as it is to the Sindar. Indeed, it happens far more frequently than you would imagine. But they are far from being the only suspects. There is Hama, for one thing, and the sister's lover. There may even be a rival merchant who had a dispute with him or a clerk who had been caught in wrongdoing – that might explain the forged document from Eryn Lasgalen."

"And what of the blacksmith and Tomlin? You said you were certain that Tomlin lied to you about the will."

"He did, but I doubt he murdered Idhren. He does not seem to have the stomach for cold-blooded murder. The blacksmith might, from what I saw of him, but we do not know of any motive he had for wanting Idhren dead. Certainly Garrow and Tomlin may know something – they may know who the murderer is; they may even have helped him or her – but it is unlikely that either of them is the murderer."

"Perhaps we can question them?" Aragorn suggested.

"We have questioned Tomlin already," Eldarion pointed out. "He clearly does not intend to reveal anything. We could try our luck with Garrow, but I do not think we will have any kind of success."

"In any case, I think we can achieve far more by trying to learn about our _main_ suspects," Éowyn said. "Who, for instance, had the opportunity to kill Idhren?"

Aragorn sighed. "Anybody could have done it. From everything we have heard, nobody had seen him for at least an hour before the alarm in the cellar, and the upper storey of the house was empty, since everyone else was either downstairs or outside."

"But there is _one_ thing," Eldarion said. "Legolas saw bloodstains on the bedsheet. That means he was probably stabbed in bed – you can ask Lady Nórui that, _Adar_ – which means that the murderer was someone close to him. That eliminates Rosiriel, I think. A man would hardly lounge in bed in the presence of his sister-in-law unless he were ill or injured. Perhaps it eliminates Nemir; we do not know how comfortable they were in each other's presence. He would not bother to get up for Hama, of course."

"That is true," Gimli said, "but I do not think we should be too quick to dismiss the importance of the alarm, lad. We know _now _that anyone could have slipped into Idhren's bedroom unnoticed, but if this murder was planned in cold blood, the perpetrator would not have been able to count on that. It is a large household, after all, and there are several servants. It would have been foolish to expect fate to provide an opportunity when Idhren was alone upstairs. The murderer must have planned the accident in the cellar as a diversion."

"So you think there were two people?" Arwen asked. "One to knock over the barrel in the cellar, and one to murder Idhren as soon as everyone else had run downstairs to investigate."

"And that means we can eliminate _nobody_," Legolas groaned. "Because anyone at all could have gone to the cellar and knocked over a wine barrel."

"We need a plan," Aragorn said briskly. "Faramir, Arwen, Éowyn – the three of you should concentrate on everything that can be done from the palace. Go through the records, speak to the city guards, speak to the other merchants in Minas Tirith... This you can do without arousing any suspicion, and the merest scrap of information may prove invaluable. Eldarion and Gimli, you deal with anything that must be done in the city. Try to follow Garrow and Tomlin, see if they talk to anybody connected with Idhren. Legolas and I will return to Idhren's house. In two days we will meet here at night to see if we are any closer to the truth."

After some hasty farewells, he and Legolas slipped out a side door.

* * *

"I am sorry," Aragorn murmured as they began the walk down to the lower levels.

"Sorry?" Legolas mumbled, staring up at the stars and only half paying attention. "What for?"

"I am not the man I once was." When _that_ brought the Elf's gaze down from the sky to meet his, Aragorn chuckled ruefully. "I know you would rather have scrambled down the balconies on the southern side. I would not have minded it, either; that route is far shorter. But I am not as certain of my balance now as I was when I was thirty." He paused. "I know I have not been the most engaging of companions, these past few years."

Legolas had been listening with growing incredulity; when Aragorn paused to draw breath, he finally spoke. "If you imagine, Estel, that I denied the Sea-longing and left my home of centuries in order to climb up and down the tiers of Minas Tirith, then you are a bigger fool than I thought! And do not delude yourself that I thought you might be cured of your brothers' unhealthy Noldorin influence and taught to climb trees – or anything, for that matter – in the proper way. I always knew it was a hopeless cause! I stayed for _you_, and if one day all you can do is sit by the fire and talk, then that is all the companionship I will ask."

"I hope that day never comes," Aragorn murmured, shuddering. "I do not suppose... Do you know... Have you any idea what it is like to age, Legolas?"

"None whatsoever," Legolas confessed after a moment's thought. "But you are not yet old, Estel."

"No; but I am no longer young, either. I... I suppose I would not feel so strange if I had not been brought up among Elves." At Legolas' questioning glance, he went on, "I was little more than a child when I met you first, and you seemed so... so... so much older and more knowledgeable." Legolas could not suppress a snicker. Aragorn smiled. "And now you seem no older than Eldarion... Just like my brothers."

Legolas only shook his head in response, letting a comfortable silence stretch between them. He would never have admitted that it was at least partly because he was tired and out of breath.

Aragorn seemed to guess, though: he turned on his companion a gaze that was entirely too knowing.

"It is the poison," he offered. "You will feel better soon. But I do not recommend sparring for a few days." He sighed. "You had best be fit again by the time your father gets here, Elfling – I do not want to try to explain any injuries to him."

"I will be fine," Legolas said mildly. "My father should be accustomed to my injuries by _now_ – I have been a warrior for centuries."

"He has been your father for longer." When Legolas' eyes turned on him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, he added, "You will understand, Elfling. One day, you will understand. In the meantime, try not to injure yourself any further and we should have no problems with your father."

* * *

Leaving Aragorn to creep through the main gate undetected, Legolas went around to the back of the house. The guards there were awake, but not alert. Even injured, it took little effort to hoist himself up over the wall and land noiselessly on the soft earth of the garden on the other side.

Legolas stood still for a moment, hoping the men could not hear his breathing in the stillness of the night. But they were not Elven guardsmen, and certainly not Elven guardsmen who had spent several mortal lifetimes being raked over the coals for letting Elflings sneak away under their watchful eyes. They continued to roll dice by the light of a single, flickering lantern, oblivious to the Elf below.

Quietly, Legolas made his way around the house to the side where his room was. He studied the wall for a moment – he _was_ tired, his shoulder hurt, and he knew he should not attempt the climb.

But he was used to heavier exertion with more serious injuries at times when stealth was far more important than comfort or even safety, and so he never actually considered the possibility of using the front door. Going slowly, partly to avoid tearing Eldarion's painstaking stitches and partly to keep from drawing attention, he clambered up to his window.

He let himself into his room and was about to heave a sigh of relief when a voice said, "Welcome, Master Elf."

Legolas took a second to curse himself for letting his exhaustion override his training – now that he was aware of his companion, the sound of a mortal breathing seemed loud, harsh, almost raucous.

Then he reached for his knives.

"_No!_" the voice said sharply. Legolas realized it was a woman, and hesitated. Mortal women, he knew, almost never had warrior training, and the intruder was decidedly mortal. "No – please – I only want to talk to you."

A figure stepped out of the shadowy doorway, moving into the middle of the room and undoing a hooded cloak.

"Lady Bainmeril?" Legolas could already hear Aragorn laughing in his head. And the telling-off he would receive if his weapons masters in Eryn Lasgalen ever heard of this. He had not just been surprised by a mortal, he had been surprised by a mortal with no training and no battle experience who seemed to think that a single small knife tucked into her belt was adequate defence against a fully-armed Elven warrior. "What are you doing here?"

"I am here to talk to you," she said simply. "I know who you are."

"Do you?"

"Well – not _who_ you are, but I know you are not Hawkeye. I know you are an Elf. I expect Nórui asked you to come here."

"Why would you think that?"

"I know her!"

"Lady Bainmeril –" Legolas cut himself off suddenly, eyes narrowing in concentration. Then he sighed – _Mortals!_ – and spun around, bringing his knives up as he did, neatly disarming the man who had tried to sidle up behind him as he walked towards Bainmeril. "I may be injured," the Elf said, kicking the sword out of reach and stepping back to keep both Bainmeril and the man in sight. "And I may have been more careless than usual today, but I am not an idiot... Do not try it," he added, as the man tensed to make a spring for his sword. "I promise you I will have an arrow through you before you even touch the hilt. Now, what do you want?"

Before either Bainmeril or the man could answer, the door opened. Legolas, who had heard and recognized the step outside, did not bother to look up, but the two mortals did.

"Master Longshanks," Bainmeril said.

"I thought I heard voices. Is something wrong, Hawkeye?"

"Lady Bainmeril knows I am an Elf," Legolas said calmly. "And this man attempted to ambush me. I do not know why."

"Is that his sword?"

"It is."

"He looks like he plans to dive for it."

"I have warned him not to. You know that for your sake I always try not to hurt Men, but if he does I may have no choice."

"I quite understand," Aragorn assured him. "As a matter of fact, I know who he is. If I am not greatly mistaken, Hawkeye, this is Amruthor."

Bainmeril gaped at him. "How do you –?"

"It does not matter how," Aragorn responded. "I know."

"And I believe," Legolas said, relaxing slightly but not sheathing his knives, "that you wished to talk, Lady Bainmeril."

Bainmeril nodded, slowly. "I... I should explain, first of all, that I did not attempt to spy on you or... or anything of that kind. It was just... You do not look entirely human." She glanced at Legolas apologetically. "You do not _act_ entirely human – but human is the wrong word. Even if you had been short and bearded and borne an axe you would not have passed for a Dwarf. You do not act entirely mortal." She shrugged. "I do not think you have fooled anybody – none of the family, I mean. Doron and Rosiriel and my mother say nothing because they think you are worried that there is hostility against your kind in Minas Tirith and that is why you attempt to pass yourself off as human."

"You do not agree with them?" Aragorn asked.

Bainmeril's eyes flickered to him. "I did at first. But... You have been asking questions, both of you. And Nórui seemed too unsuspicious. Doron thought she simply had not noticed what _we_ had, but I do not believe that. Nórui is many things, but she is not a fool."

"You do not like her," Legolas said, sounding surprised.

"I do not dislike her. But she was bad for my brother. Idhren was always a cautious man, wise and prudent, but after he married Nórui he changed. He grew... unwary. Foolish."

"Happiness can do that to a man," Aragorn offered.

"Perhaps." Bainmeril shrugged. "It does not matter now, in any case. I would not have brought Nórui up except that it was her lack of suspicion that made me believe she knew what you were doing." She paused and looked at Legolas expectantly, but the Elf showed no reaction. "Did she?"

"I do not believe," Aragorn said quietly, "that you are here just to ask that question."

"No. I can guess what you are doing. I am not a fool either." She swivelled to face Aragorn. "And _you_ knew of Amruthor. You have been spying. Nórui must have asked you to come here to find out what happened to Idhren. She does not believe Nemir killed him. That I _do_ know."

"Do you?"

"I? I do not know what I believe." Bainmeril hesitated, her mouth twisting in grief. "But I know that there are people who believe that Amruthor killed my brother, or that I did it myself."

"Did you?"

Bainmeril glared at him. "I _loved_ Idhren. He was my brother. We had disagreements, but I would _never_ hurt him. I want to know who killed him as badly as Nórui does. But _you_ should know that I did not do it – neither of us did."

"Why should we believe you?"

Before Bainmeril could answer, Amruthor burst out furiously, "I _told _you! I told you they would be like this!"

"That is _enough_." Bainmeril's voice was imperious. "Control yourself or be silent, Amruthor, and leave if you can do neither. Getting excited is not going to help anybody. I do not pretend to know who this man is or why he is here, and even less do I understand the motivations of the Elf. We have no choice but to trust them."

"Why?" Legolas' interruption was unexpected; his voice was knowing and faintly troubled. Aragorn shot his friend a sharp glance. In many ways the Elf was oblivious to the duplicity that could exist in the hearts of Men, but he was no stranger to evil and he was certainly not an idiot. "Do you think somebody _wants_ you to be held guilty? Has someone said something?"

Yes, and he had been brought up in a royal court, with all its politics and intrigue. Not even Wood-elves were entirely guileless.

Bainmeril eyed him uncertainly for several seconds. Finally she said, "The girl – she was murdered outside my door."

"You think somebody did that deliberately so that suspicion would fall upon you? Why should anybody wish to do you harm, my lady? Have you enemies as well?" Legolas hesitated; Aragorn saw a flicker of _something_ in his eyes before he spoke again. "Do you believe you are in... danger... here?"

Aragorn expected a hot denial, or at least reluctance to answer. What he did not expect was for Bainmeril to answer firmly, "I know I am."

"From whom, Lady Bainmeril?" Aragorn asked.

"If I could answer that, I could name my brother's murderer. I fear..." A sudden flush coloured her cheeks. "I have a confession to make. It... I must admit that it will make me appear guilty, and you have only my word that I have done no harm to Idhren. But..."

"Tell us, Lady Bainmeril," Legolas said gently.

Bainmeril looked at him, seemed to take courage from the lack of accusation in the Elf's blue eyes, and began her story.

"The night my brother died... We had quarrelled that afternoon. Idhren did not agree with my choice of Amruthor as a husband. He would not consent to the wedding. I went to him in his study. We had words."

"Nobody knew of this?"

"He was alone. Perhaps, had he lived long enough, he would have told Doron and Nórui, but..." She shrugged sadly. "I told him I would marry Amruthor with or without his consent, but I hoped it would not have to be without. He was not pleased. We did not part on good terms. I... I fretted over it most of the afternoon. By evening I had calmed down enough to wish peace with Idhren. I did not, you understand, reconsider my decision to marry Amruthor, but I did not want to be on bad terms with my brother.

"I went into his bedroom. He was alone; I thought at first that he was asleep. But when I drew near..." She broke off with a sob and a shuddering breath. After a few moments, she composed herself enough to continue the story. "I found him dead. I left the room at once, intending to summon help, but at that moment I heard the commotion from the cellar, and I ran downstairs with everyone else."

"And you have told _nobody_ of this?" Aragorn asked, unable to keep the disapproval from his voice. "Lady Bainmeril –"

"It was wrong of me. I know that. It certainly does not appear to be the act of an innocent woman. But Master Longshanks – forgive me; I do not know what your true name is – I am telling you _now_. That is not the act of a guilty woman."

"Yet the act, perhaps, of a woman who believed the man she loved guilty of murder?" Legolas interjected; although his voice was still mild, there was no uncertainty in it, and there was an undertone of the steel that Thranduil's councillors had learnt to know and dread. "Why did you think Amruthor had done it, my lady?"

"I had spoken to him of my argument with Idhren. He was furious. He left, threatening to go to Master Garrow – but you do not know him; he is a smith and craftsman who has often undertaken commissions for me. He is said to know something of... of weapons used for killing by... by stealth. When I saw that Idhren had been stabbed..."

"You believed that he might have done it? And yet you let Nemir –"

"I did not believe anything of the kind!" Bainmeril interjected furiously. "I knew he was innocent! But not everyone knows him as I do, and Nórui is open in her dislike. She would have believed anything of him, even this! If I had told anyone I went to Idhren's room, I would have had to tell them why. I could not – _could not_ – risk false accusations being made against Amruthor."

Legolas eyed her for a moment, then sighed and sank into the nearest chair, dropping his weapons in an untidy heap on the floor. Aragorn was not fooled; if anyone made a sudden movement they would find an Elven blade at their throat faster than thought. But the gesture made Bainmeril and Amruthor relax.

"Why have you come to us now?"

"I want truth. I have spent days afraid, hiding, terrified that at any moment the City Guard would come for me and arraign me for bearing false witness. I cannot – _we _cannot – you _must _help us."

Aragorn waited for her to go before settling into the chair opposite Legolas'. "Did you notice?" he asked.

"That Idhren was dead _before_ the diversion and not after it?"

"She could be lying, though." At the Elf's exasperated glance, Aragorn insisted, "It is a _possibility_ and we must consider it. I do not believe she is lying, but I might be wrong."

"What now?"

"We should exchange tasks. Tomorrow _you_ go riding with Doron and _I _will stay here and nearly get myself killed."

* * *

TBC

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What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	10. An Unexpected Exchange

**Disclaimer: **Not one Elf. Alas.

I know I'm taking too long for each chapter. ((sighs)) It's like the further I get into the story, the more I realize just how difficult it is to keep all the plot threads together, hopefully not let them get too tangled, and keep an eye on all loose ends. I think this is the last detective story I'll be attempting for a while.

I promise I'll finish this one. I'll just have to beg for patience while I chivvy stubborn Elves and recalcitrant Rangers into obedience.

Thank you to my wonderful reviewers: de-chibi-otaku, Wtiger5, Caelhir, Ybs, tearful-eye, Silivren Tinu, Sigrid Sigbjornsdotter, Pearlmaidenredskyla, Fareryniel, GreatGreenDragon, RadioactiveSquirrel, yenneffer, blindrain and invisigoth3.

* * *

**Chapter 10: An Unexpected Exchange**

Legolas waited until a pointed ear pressed to Aragorn's door revealed the sound of even breathing and a soft rap produced no answer beyond a muffled grunt and the creaking of the bed as its occupant rolled over. Then, grimacing a little at the pull on his injured shoulder, he filled his quiver and slid his bow and knives into their sheaths. To change from the garments and heavy, mud-encrusted (at Aragorn's insistence) boots of a young country boy to the soft browns and greens of archers of the Woodland Realm was the work of a moment.

A Lord of Ithilien, he reflected as he fastened his grey cloak, might _possibly_ owe obedience to the King of Gondor, but the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen owed obedience only to his father. And tonight he was assuredly going to be the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen. What his father did not know could not hurt anyone.

Legolas opened his window and smiled into the moonlight. He was used to hard riding and close battles, and it was likely that before the next sunset he would get both.

He did not leave a note for Aragorn – such a thing might fall into the wrong hands, and his friend knew him well enough to guess what he was doing. But he did trace a single Elf-rune into the ashes of the grate with a light finger: most people would not see it unless they were told, but Aragorn would notice and know he was safe.

When everything was ready, and his bed artistically rumpled, Legolas leapt from the window to the ground with a grace that belied his injury. He landed on his feet with the softest of thumps; before anyone could note it and think to look for the source of the noise he had pulled his hood up over his head and dived into the shadows. A guard walked past without seeing him, and walked back shaking his head. A dog barked in the distance. The young Elf waited for the activity to subside before he slipped from his hiding-place, as silent and stealthy as a cat.

With a bandage around his shoulder he would have preferred a gate, but they were all guarded, and while the wall was high it was far from insurmountable. Legolas hesitated only because of the moonlight, bright enough to reveal him to the most somnolent of guardsmen.

A cloudbank rolling across the sky gave him the opportunity he needed. It obscured the moon only for a few seconds, but they were enough for him to scramble up the wall, heave himself over it and drop down on the other side. His descent was somewhat less graceful than he would have liked: his shoulder gave a painful twinge that made him release his grip sooner than he should have done. But it did not matter. He was out. Nobody had noticed. He had work to do.

His first task was to go to the stables at the highest level to retrieve his horse. This time he scorned both the secret passageways and the public road, taking instead the most direct route between himself and his destination and vaulting over anything that was in the way.

It took him only minutes. With an admonition to the horse to be quiet – which, being an Elf-trained battle charger, it obeyed with such thoroughness that its hooves made no noise at all on the cobbles of the courtyard – he led it from the stables and through the deserted streets. The few guards who were on duty were easily avoided. It was only when he reached the gates that Legolas met his first real obstacle. The gates were closed at this hour, the guards would let nobody out without an explanation, and they all had orders that Prince Legolas was not to be permitted to leave the city at odd hours.

Legolas was about to launch into a story explaining how he was not an Elf and he only wanted some air, but the guard's sceptically-raised brows stopped him. He considered simply telling the man to stand aside and let him pass – if he sounded enough like his father, the guards tended to decide that an Elven-warrior who was present was a greater threat that a King who might or might not hear about it – but he suspected that Aragorn would be angrier than usual, and he did not want to cause serious trouble.

For a moment he stood biting his lip, hand on the bridle. Then a familiar figure stepped from the gatehouse.

Legolas smiled. "Eldarion!"

"I should not let you go," the young man said, crossing the distance between them at a leisurely stroll. "You are injured. It is the middle of the night."

"Yet you are here," Legolas pointed out. "And you can have had no other purpose than to see that I could leave unhindered."

Eldarion seemed to consider arguing for a moment, then he shrugged and smiled back at the Elf as he unlatched the postern-gate.

"Make sure you return unharmed," he warned Legolas, pulling the gate wide and standing back. "It will be my head on the block of something happens to you. I have no doubt that my parents will happily give me up to King Thranduil if it keeps _them_ safe from his wrath."

"I will be _fine_," Legolas said, sounding as exasperated as he felt. "I _have_ been riding by myself before, Eldarion."

Eldarion shrugged. "Precisely. And since you go looking for trouble, you are likely to find it. I am not objecting. I doubt that would do much good in any case. Just be careful."

* * *

Aragorn's practised eye was not deceived by the rumpled linen. He had abetted enough of Legolas' night-time escapades, and joined in enough, to know the difference between a bed that had been slept in and a bed that had been worked over by an Elf who fancied his powers of deception. This was assuredly the latter.

He swore under his breath. He could feel in his bones that this meant trouble.

He cast a quick glance around the room to see if Legolas had left him a message. He had not, but Aragorn did find the cloak and boots that served as the Elf's "disguise" in a corner. The unwonted untidiness surprised him – Legolas was not in the habit of leaving clothes lying about his bedroom. He picked them up, searched the cloak and found nothing concealed in it, and finally left them where he had found them. Perhaps the Elf had been attempting to replicate what he tended to describe, with an aristocratically-wrinkled nose, as "Mannish disorder".

He went down to breakfast. Rosiriel and her children were sitting in the dining-room.

Aragorn had met the children before, briefly, but he had not had the chance to speak to them. He reflected, now, that perhaps it had been a mistake not to try to find out what _they_ remembered of the night of Idhren's death. Children frequently noticed things that their elders missed.

That, then, was what he had to do. Questioning the children could most certainly _not_ be entrusted to Legolas. The Elf had learnt enough, in his time with Aragorn, to conduct a _somewhat_ normal conversation with a Mortal adult. The only human children he had met were Eldarion, Aragorn's daughters, and Faramir's children; and _they _had all been trained from their babyhood to make allowances for the strangeness of Wood-elves.

Aragorn greeted Rosiriel with a smile and the children with another.

"It is a pleasant morning," he offered as he sat.

Rosiriel nodded. "Do you plan to go riding with Doron again today?"

"I think not." Aragorn gave her a self-deprecating smile. "I am not as young as I was. My body would protest two consecutive days of hard riding."

"And I expect you have work." Rosiriel smiled at him, but it did not quite reach her eyes. "Nórui told me you are one of her father's most trusted and experienced stewards."

"It was kind of Lady Nórui to say so." He turned his attention to the children. "And what do you have planned for today? Lessons?"

"Not today," answered the eldest, a boy around twelve years old.

"They have been given a freeday," Rosiriel explained. "They have been working hard of late, so I thought they deserved some time to themselves. I do not know what they plan to do, though."

* * *

Eldarion was speaking to the Captain of the City Guard when they heard a shout from one of the men standing watch at the gate. Exchanging a quick glance, they hurried up the stairs of the watchtower.

There were five riders approaching them – Elves of Eryn Lasgalen, based on their clothes. They all seemed to be riding armed, although they were too far away for Eldarion to be certain. He could not tell who they were, but the sunlight glinting off the bright golden warrior braids of the lead rider gave him a very good idea.

"_Ai Elbereth_," he breathed. "This will be trouble." Then he called to the men below, "Open the gate!"

He hurried down, straightening his tunic, taking off his cloak to shake out the wrinkles as best he could, and trying to smooth his windblown hair.

He had just finished polishing his sword with the edge of his cloak and managed to slide it back into its sheath when the riders reached the gate. The Captain of the Guard should have stepped forward to welcome the visitors, but the man appeared to be tongue-tied, and Eldarion could not blame him. The Elves were _not_ fully armed, but they all carried either swords or bows; and although they were smiling _now_, Eldarion knew that, with what he had to tell them, there was a strong possibility that the smiles would disappear.

"_Aran brannon_." He bowed to the lead rider, and reached to hold the bridle of his horse while he dismounted. "_Mae govannen. _We were not expecting you for some weeks. You should have sent word that you were coming. We would have received you with honour."

"_Mae govannen, Eldarion._" Thranduil leapt off his horse, his feet making no sound at all as he landed on the cobbles. "I need no formal reception, and I wanted to surprise Legolas." He glanced over his shoulder at his companions, who had also dismounted. "You have met Thorontur and Arbellason before, I believe. And of course you know _them_."

Eldarion inclined his head formally to Thorontur and Arbellason, whom he knew as Thranduil's most trusted friends and advisors, before exchanging a smile with the last two Elves.

"Saeldur. Rochendilwen. You are welcome in Minas Tirith."

Saeldur smiled, a bright, merry smile that made him look oddly like Legolas, although the two young Elves were as dissimilar in appearance as Elves _could_ be. "You look terrified out of your wits, Eldarion. What has the Elfling done _now_?"

"Perhaps we should discuss this at home," Eldarion squeaked.

Thranduil laughed. "I see that Legolas has managed to surprise _me_ – unwittingly, no doubt." He clapped Eldarion on the shoulder. "Very well, Eldarion, I will speak to your parents first. I hope that will give my son time to make himself presentable and remove all signs of whatever escapade he is engaging in just now."

"I hope so too, my King," Eldarion said fervently.

* * *

"_Naneth_, we have a problem."

Arwen looked up from her book, eyes flickering suspiciously from her son to her oldest daughter to the Dwarf who stood between them, twirling his axe nervously between his hands.

"What is it? What have you done _now_?"

"The King is here."

"Estel?"

"Not that King."

"Éomer? But why should that be..." Arwen trailed off, understanding dawning as she looked into three terrified faces. "Not... not _Thranduil_?"

Eldarion nodded miserably. "He wanted to surprise Legolas."

"Where is Legolas?"

"I do not know." Eldarion shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable, and Arwen frowned. This was most unlike him.

"Send word to your father... Or to Nórui. They will –"

"He is not there." Eldarion looked terrified now. "He... he left the city in the night."

"Left the city? But... where did he _go_?"

"I do not know."

"And who _let_ him go? Estel has given standing instructions that Legolas is not to be permitted..." She stopped, staring at her son in horror. "_You_ let him go?"

"He swore he would return unharmed."

"You let him go without even finding out _where_ he was going?"

"He said he was going riding."

"Eldarion!"

"There is no point blaming the boy," came Gimli's gravelly voice. "No doubt most of the fault in this lies with the pointy-eared halfwit. The question is what we should do _now_. For the moment Faramir and Éowyn are keeping Thranduil occupied, but at some point we are going to have to explain to him that we cannot produce Legolas."

"Do not be _absurd_," Arwen hissed, dropping her book and getting to her feet. "One does not _explain_ things to Thranduil, and certainly not when Legolas is involved. My father did not live as long as he did by explaining to Thranduil that he could not produce Legolas."

"But _Naneth_," Eldarion protested, "it is a fact. We _cannot_ produce Legolas."

"That is the kind of thing your father would say," Arwen said. "Your uncles and I, on the other hand, have frequently _prevented_ diplomatic disasters by producing Legolas when everyone from Glorfindel to the oak-tree outside his window insisted that it could not be done. Did he have anything with him, Eldarion?"

"Just his weapons – his bow and knives. And his quiver."

"Sheaves of spare arrows?"

"No."

"Then he has not gone far. He may already be on his way here. Eldarion, you go after him."

"But he could be _anywhere_! And not even _Adar _can track Legolas if he has decided that he does not want to be followed."

"You should have thought of that before you let him go."

"But even if I find him, what shall I _do_?"

"Bring him back here."

"What if he will not come?"

"_Make_ him."

"Heis stronger than I am."

"My most beloved child," Arwen said, smiling with a sweetness that all those who knew her knew to dread, "I quite understand that it is difficult, perhaps even impossible, to dissuade Legolas from doing something foolish, especially if he has already set his heart on it. But if you do not achieve that task in the next two hours, you will have to discuss the situation with Thranduil."

Eldarion swallowed. "I will find Legolas."

"I thought you would."

* * *

Aragorn sat with Nórui in her study, to all outward appearances examining the accounts of one of her estates, but really making her go over the events of the night of Idhren's death in minute detail, hoping that something would present itself, some fact that had seemed unimportant earlier, something out of place that had escaped notice at the time.

So far, they had met with no success.

"This is hopeless!" Nórui snapped in frustration when Aragorn asked her, _again_, to attempt to remember her movements on that evening. "I can remember nothing more than I have already told you. It has been too long!"

"Lady Nórui, I know it is difficult, but if you could just try... It might help us discover the truth of your husband's death and exonerate your brother."

"My _brother_."

Aragorn sighed. "I know you are angry with him."

"He believes I killed my husband! Even worse, he believes I killed my husband and now I sit idly by while he takes the blame for it! I never imagined he thought I could..." Nórui shook her head. "He thinks I would betray him to his death, and such an ignominious death. He thinks I would let him go to the gallows for _murder_ if it were in my hands to prevent it. I... I do not know what to do."

"Have faith, Lady Nórui," Aragorn said gently. "We well find out the truth of this. I promise you that. But you must try to remember what happened."

"I do not _know_. I... I was in my dressing-room. I had just undone my hair when I heard the sound. At first I thought a carriage had overturned in the yard, but then I realized it had been too loud and violent for that. I hurried downstairs."

"Your dressing room is opposite what used to be your bedroom?"

"Not quite opposite. It is a little further down the corridor. I have not been able to make myself sleep in _that room_ since... since Idhren's death."

"I understand. Do you still use the same dressing-room?"

"Yes. I considered using another – the rooms on either side of it are empty – but it seemed foolish. I... I have been considering leaving Minas Tirith in any case. I have nothing to keep me here now, and I might find some diversion in the management of my estates."

"What did you when you heard the noise?"

"I ran downstairs."

"Did anything seem different? Unusual or out of place for some reason?"

"No, I –" Nórui broke off, eyes going wide.

"What is it?" Aragorn prompted.

"When I went up to my dressing-room I... I thought something was different. Not _wrong_, you understand, but just as though someone had rearranged the furniture. And then when I left..."

"Yes?"

"I... I had a moment's feeling that there was someone else running along the corridor with me. I do not know _why_ – perhaps I heard something or caught a glimpse of movement. But when I reached the stairs, I was alone. I could not think about it then, and afterwards in the confusion... I forgot. Do you think..." She shivered. "You do not think it was... it was some unhallowed spirit, my King?"

"I doubt it," Aragorn said, although he felt a strong urge to shiver.

"But if it is –"

"That is why we have Legolas with us. Elves have no fear of the shades of mortals. I do not think so, though... Why should there be a shade in this house? And why should it want to harm your husband? No, Lady Nórui, I think I can safely assure you that it was a hand of flesh and blood that stabbed Idhren. We _will_ find out whose."

"My King, I think –"

Nórui broke off with a cry, which Aragorn echoed when he saw blood blossoming on her gown and the tip of an arrowhead just poking through her shoulder.

* * *

"We are _cursed_," Bainmeril said in despair.

"You are not cursed." Aragorn put in the final stitch, cut the thread, and held out his hand for the bandages. Bainmeril gave him the strips of linen she had cut, and he began wrapping Nórui's shoulder. "Nobody is cursed. There is an explanation for this and we will find it." He tied off the bandage. "What you are, at the moment, is fortunate. The man who fired this had appalling aim."

"He fired from the third floor of the next house... It is at least twenty yards, and there was a wall in the way."

"My friend would have put a hole in the centre of a silver penny at that distance, and he would not have bothered to aim first." He helped Nórui sit up. "You are confined to your room, Lady Nórui. The windows will be closed, there is a guard at the door, and you will eat nothing that is not given to you personally by either Bainmeril or me. Or my young friend Hawkeye, _when_ he returns. Lady Bainmeril, will you send for Lady Nórui's personal maid? I have instructions for her."

"Yes, of course."

As soon as Bainmeril left the room, Aragorn looked at Nórui.

"Why did you not tell me?"

"I do not know what you mean," Nórui said, but the bright scarlet of her cheeks said she was lying.

"Lady Nórui, I am not a fool, and I was trained by one of the finest Healers in Middle-earth. I cannot help you if you insist on concealing things from me. _Why did you not tell me?_" Nórui averted her eyes and Aragorn sighed. "Please, Lady Nórui. If I am to do anything for you, you _must_ trust me. Can we at least agree that this will not happen again?"

A knock at the door spared Nórui from replying. A chambermaid slipped in, bobbed a curtsey, and said, "If you please, Master Longshanks, there is a letter for you."

Aragorn took the scroll she handed him, rolled it out, and cursed.

_You utter idiot, _[the letter began without any salutation] _how could you let Legolas out of your sight for an instant? Do you not know him at all even now?_

_Thranduil is here now, demanding his son. I have told him that you are going to produce Legolas by this evening. Now locate the Elfling, wherever he is, and drag him back here. I do not care how you do it as long as we can present him to his father in one piece and without having suffered any permanent damage._

Aragorn cursed under his breath.

"I must go," he said aloud. "I have some urgent business. Lady Nórui, I will try to return by nightfall. If I am still alive at nightfall. And when I return, I will want to know more about this. How many people were aware of it, for one thing."

He strode out of the room.

* * *

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	11. Chasing the Morning

**Disclaimer: **Not one Elf.

This chapter is a bit shorter than usual… But I wanted to get it out as an early Christmas present. I hope you'll enjoy it! The Elf and the Ranger are making discoveries. ;-)

Many, many thanks to my wonderful reviewers: ziggy3, The Pearl Maiden, Silivren Tinu, invisigoth3, Lady Ambreanna, Sigrid Sigbjornsdotter, LiQuYu, Caelhir, Lothoren, Tavaril Lasgalen, misscruel, Larner, XienRue and OhShirleyUJest. Thank you all so much for staying with me! I promise I'll get to the end as soon as I can.

And Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it!

* * *

**Chapter 11: Chasing the Morning**

Legolas did not bother to keep to the roads. Roads were for Men and Dwarves and idiots who wanted to be seen. He urged his horse through woods, across meadows, over fences, taking care to avoid the towns and villages where he might be seen and recognized as an Elf.

He rode hard. Another horse with another rider might have tired, but she had been bred and trained by Elves and Legolas sat lightly.

All the same, it was close to noon by the time he arrived at his destination.

Now that he had reached it, he did not bother to conceal himself. He had an idea that deception would serve no purpose with the lord of this estate, except possibly to enrage him. If his enterprise was to meet with any success, he would have to go as himself.

Not that Legolas was reluctant: Hawkeye, while amusing for a time, had been a very difficult and infuriating disguise to maintain recently.

Nobody stopped him until he had reached the main gate of the large, sprawling house. There, a stout figure bearing a pike stepped out of the gatehouse and into his path.

"I am Legolas Thranduilion," the Elf announced before the man could ask him anything. "I have urgent business with your master." The man looked doubtful, and Legolas added, "It is of the greatest importance and it is _vital_ that I see him at once."

"Youare an Elf?" the man asked uncertainly. "What _business_ does one of your kind have here?"

Legolas sighed. He had not foreseen this, although he had to admit that he should have done. On the estates around Minas Tirith most people knew him as one of the Nine Walkers, the King's friend and the Lord of Ithilien, if not as the son of the Elven-king. They did not all like him, but they _knew _him, and had he gone to any of their gates demanding admittance he would at least have been permitted to enter.

"I _must _speak to him," Legolas said urgently, leaning forward. "Will you tell him I am here?"

The man nodded and disappeared into the gatehouse. A moment later, a young boy – fifteen summers, if Legolas was any judge (as he now was, having watched Eldarion grow up) – slipped out of the other side of it and scampered towards the house.

Legolas waited, resting one hand on his horse's neck to keep her quiet.

Several minutes later, the boy came running back. He entered the gatehouse. Legolas heard soft voices inside. Then the stout man emerged and opened the gate.

"Go straight up," he said. "Someone will be waiting to show you where to go."

Legolas nodded his thanks and gave his horse a light nudge with his knees. That was all the direction she needed: she cantered up the broad avenue leading to the house. The trees lining it were tall and obviously old. Legolas would dearly have liked to stop and talk to them, but he had things to do first. Perhaps on his way out…

A man was waiting for him at the foot of the broad steps leading up to the main door. Legolas dismounted and let him take the horse's reins, warning her with a light pat to her shoulder not to make a fuss or bite or trample anyone if they tried to close her into a stall. She exhaled loudly, Legolas narrowly avoided having his fingers bitten, and then an elderly woman had appeared to lead him into the house.

The young Elf followed her up the stairs and through the door. She was taciturn, responding neither to his bright smile nor to his merry greeting – but perhaps she was simply nervous. Legolas had, after all, been prepared to meet trouble on the road, and to those who were unused to the sight, a fully-armed Elven warrior could be a little intimidating.

She pushed open a heavy door to the left of the main hall and ushered him ahead of her into the room.

As soon as Legolas entered, he heard the door shut behind him. He felt suddenly uneasy – perhaps he should at least have told someone where he was going? But he had not for a moment imagined that there would be any danger here.

Yet something about the room unnerved him. He could not define it, precisely, but there was something _wrong _with it.

Legolas suppressed a shiver. Today he was his father's son, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen. A friend of Elessar of Gondor might be turned away from this door with his questions unanswered, but the son of the Elven-king of the Woodland Realm _would _get what he came for.

He straightened his back and faced the occupant of the room.

It was a man, seated in a great armchair before the fireplace. Legolas could tell that he was tall: standing, he would probably be just an inch shy of being able to look Legolas in the eyes. But he seemed weak. Age had wreaked his ravages upon him.

And yet –

Something in the Elf's soul was unaccountably uncomfortable in his presence.

"Legolas Thranduilion," the man said. "I have heard of you… But tell me, how am I to address you today? Lord of Ithilien? Prince of the Woodland Realm? Elven warrior of legend?"

"Just Legolas will do." The Elf stepped forward into the centre of the room.

"And you said you had urgent business with me."

"Yes. But first I have a question to ask you."

"Ask, then."

"Why are you _here_?"

* * *

Aragorn was King of Gondor and Chieftain of the Dúnedain. He had ridden at the head of armies. He had faced and defeated formidable opponents. He had stood before the Black Gate and issued a challenge to Sauron himself.

Before the Elven-king and his two companions, he felt his knees tremble.

To be fair to him, Thranduil was not trying to make Aragorn nervous. Aragorn could tell: there had been times in the past when Thranduil _had _gone out of his way to be intimidating.

"My King." Aragorn bowed in the Elven manner, fist over his heart. Despite Thranduil's remonstrance, he had never been able to address his friend's father with less formality than that. It did not matter what titles Aragorn had among Men: Thranduil had been King of the Woodland Realm since the day Oropher had been slain on the Dagorlad – a length of time beyond Aragorn's imagining. "We are honoured by your presence. We had not expected you here so soon."

Thranduil nodded. "I am happy to see you, Estel. Sit." Aragorn sat. "Where is my son?"

Aragorn had been prepared for this question. He had considered how to answer, and finally decided that the absolute and complete truth was best. Even if he did not tell Thranduil everything, the Elven-king was bound to find out.

* * *

"This is my house," the man said, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you truly not know –"

"What is happening in Minas Tirith? I know. I know a great deal more than you think, young Elf." Before Legolas could express his outrage at being addressed as 'young Elf' by a man who could not be more than _sixty_, he went on, "I keep myself informed."

"Lord Beron," Legolas ground out, "your son is in prison – in _prison_ – being held on the charge of a murder to which he confessed but of which your daughter insists he is not guilty. After speaking to him, I have good reason to believe, myself, that your daughter is right and he is innocent. You have one child accused of murder, probably falsely, but refusing to defend himself, another trying everything in her power to have him acquitted of the charge, both less than a day's ride from you – and here you sit drinking ale before the fire!"

The man shoved his chair back with a vicious screech and got to his feet. He clearly meant to overawe Legolas; the Elf stood his ground, unimpressed. He had faced down more terrifying sights than a balding man in a coat that hung too loose upon his thin frame.

"Do not presume to know my business, Elf," Lord Beron snarled. "Or to tell me what my duty is to my children."

"If you knew your duty, nobody would have to remind you of it."

"I find it difficult to believe that you rode all the way here from Minas Tirith just to harangue me about my obligations, Prince Legolas. Why are you here?"

"I want to know what you know." Legolas stepped closer to Lord Beron. The man shrank away fearfully. "The Lady Undómiel – your Queen – is acquainted with you. When we knew that Lady Nórui was your daughter, she told me something of you. Not a great deal, but enough for me to know that something is amiss _now_." Lord Beron looked hesitant. Legolas pressed his advantage. "My lord, I do not for a minute suppose that you would rather be sitting in your empty halls than with your children to support them in their hour of need. I ask you again: why are you here?"

Lord Beron scowled in silence for several seconds. Then he said, "Come with me."

* * *

Thranduil's blue eyes sparkled with amused exasperation, but he did not, Aragorn was pleased to note, seem either worried or angry.

"So you think Legolas has run off in pursuit of a murderer?" he asked.

"He has run off, and there is a murderer."

Thranduil's response was a philosophical smile. "No doubt the boy will be fine. He has faced worse things than Men with the urge to spill blood. Have you no idea where he has gone?"

"I did not think so, but now I begin to believe that I may have missed something. It is unlike him to disappear and leave no word at all."

That, at least, was true: Legolas was an experienced warrior, more experienced than any twenty men from Gondor's army, including Aragorn himself, put together. He might have left without telling Aragorn, but he would not have left without telling _somebody_ or at least leaving a message about his plans.

"He will be fine," Thranduil repeated, face unreadable. "And what of you, Estel? You seem worried. Is this woman's affair troubling you?"

"I hate to think that justice is so poorly served," Aragorn confessed. "In my realm – in my _capital_ – it should not have been necessary for Nórui to go to such lengths to obtain justice for her brother. And yet… I cannot blame the City Guard, my king. They have a duty. They do it well. Minas Tirith is not as safe a place as I would like and they have plenty of curpurses and back-alley quarrels to deal with. Nemir confessed and the only person who believed him innocent was his sister, who must admittedly be biased. I cannot fault the guards' actions in this. But it should not have happened."

"You cannot blame yourself for every problem in Minas Tirith."

"That is precisely what I always tell him," Arwen's voice said from the doorway.

Thranduil smiled at her. "Lady Undómiel."

"My king. I see matters have been resolved satisfactorily. Estel feared that having failed to supply you with information about the whereabouts of your son, he would not leave your presence alive."

The Elven-king inclined his head.

"There is something you should know, _meleth_," Aragorn said. "Nórui is pregnant."

* * *

Legolas padded silently down the dimly-lit corridors after Lord Beron. He still sensed an odd oppressiveness, and it made him reluctant to go deeper into the house alone with its strange owner.

He told himself firmly to stop being a fool. He was too experienced a warrior to be frightened of being alone with an elderly man in a dark house.

Yet Legolas was… not frightened, not quite, but… _uncomfortable_.

The corridors only grew darker and gloomier as they went deeper into the house. Legolas found himself shivering: there had been bright sunshine outside, but this felt almost like being trapped in a cave.

At last they stopped before a pair of doors: high, oaken, carved with a pattern of leaves and flowers that Legolas' Elven eyes could pick out even in the near-total darkness. As soon as he saw it, he knew that this house had not always been as it was now: unhappy, mourning, sinister. It had been full of warmth and laughter, drapes drawn back and windows thrown open to the world. Light had sparkled on those carvings, polished wood glinting.

Lord Beron knocked softly at the door, but he did not wait for a response before pushing it open.

The room into which they stepped was even darker than the corridor outside. Heavy velvet drapes were drawn across the windows, so thick that not the tiniest sliver of sunlight could pierce them. A single candle flickered on a table in a stand meant for three.

It took Legolas a moment to realize that the room was a bedchamber, and it was occupied.

A woman – Legolas _thought _it was a woman – lay in a bed entirely too large for her: she was thin and frail and dwarfed alarmingly by it. She looked older than Éowyn was now, older than any woman Legolas had ever seen.

"She is younger than I am," Lord Beron said next to him, and Legolas gave a start of surprise.

He turned to the man, wishing there were enough light to discern his expression. "Who is she?"

"My wife. Lothiad. Nemir and Nórui's mother."

"What is – is she ill?"

"Gravely. I have had the finest healers to look at her, men who have travelled as far as Rhûn and Harad and know the physic practised in distant lands. Nobody has been able to help her."

"How long has she been like this?"

"Some months. She was hale before that, hale and strong and brimming with energy. She went away for a few weeks with some of our kin. They decided to ride north, up through Lothlórien and the southern reaches of Eryn Lasgalen, and then to ride across the High Pass into the lands to the west. I would have gone with them, but the business of the estate kept me here. Lothaid rode alone. You do not know how bitterly I regret that now."

"Something happened there?"

"They returned sooner than expected. They told me she had taken ill. It was a mysterious sickness. They did not know what it was. I… I have my suspicions. I know what you must be thinking. The same thought occurred to me. How could she, who was as strong as a woman can be at her age, be the only one affected by this illness when nobody else suffered so much as a mild fever?"

"And…"

The man shrugged. "I did what I could. As I said, I have had the finest healers in Gondor brought to look at her. Nobody knew what the problem was."

Legolas had a shrewd idea of what the problem might be: he could not see much of the woman's face by the light of the lone candle, but what he _could_ see of it, her stillness, her lack of reaction to their presence…

"My lord, has she been eating?"

"A little. It takes time; her maid must feed her by hand now, only the softest foods, or broth."

"Not the same food you eat, then?" Lord Beron shook his head. That was all the confirmation the young archer needed, but he still hesitated to ask the question: the man was clearly miserable about his wife's state and Legolas had no wish to offend him or suggest that his care had been negligent. "My lord, if you will permit me…"

"You are a healer?"

"I am not, but my Elven-lord always insisted that all his warriors learn at least the rudiments. It kept us alive on the battlefield more than once."

"It can hardly harm her," Lord Beron said, waving one hand in weary consent.

Legolas approached the bed cautiously. The woman's eyes were open, he saw now, tracking his movements. He had no desire to alarm her.

He stopped a few feet from the bed.

"My lady, if you will allow me closer… I might be able to help you." She looked a little wary. "I promise you, I mean you no harm. I only want to help, if I can."

There was a barely-perceptible movement that might have been a nod.

Legolas drew nearer, picking the candle up as he passed it. Examining Lady Lothiad's face by its light, he knew that his suspicions had been correct: it was no illness that she had. She was pale, sweat beading her brow, lips dry and slightly parted, breathing shallow and too fast.

The Elf felt her wrist, already knowing what he would find. Her pulse was rapid and weak.

But more than anything else, it was her eyes that confirmed it for him. He had seen eyes like that before.

Legolas made a mental note to thank Lord Thorontur for his training. The importance of a warrior being always, _always_ prepared had been drilled into them so thoroughly that even now, even in Gondor, Legolas' pack contained a full stock of healing supplies, most of which he would never need.

Now, though, they might save Lothiad's life.

Legolas stepped back and gestured towards the doorway. Lord Beron followed him out.

"What is it? Do you know what ails her?"

"I am reasonably certain. If I am right, Lord Beron – and I think I am – she is not ill, and she is certainly not dying. She is only… weakened."

"What is it?" Lord Beron asked again.

"Not something any Man would have known, so I am not surprised the healers you summoned could not identify it. In Eryn Lasgalen, Lord Beron, in the days before the fall of the Shadow, we used a… a draught. When we were away from the stronghold – a few days' ride – and we needed to pull out an arrow or stitch up a wound. I do not know exactly what was in it: the King's healers always made it up as a powder for us to carry. It numbs pain – numbs feeling – but without making you drowsy. It was very helpful for us when we needed everyone, injured or not, awake and alert to keep watch. However, we learnt through experience that it only works for Elves; if a mortal should taste it…"

"You think someone poisoned my wife with that?"

"I think someone is still poisoning her with that. It was not a fatal drug, Lord Beron, even for mortals – the healers would hardly have entrusted us with something that might do more harm than good. It usually wears off in a few hours." Legolas had been riffling through his pack as he spoke. He finally found what he was looking for. He extracted a small muslin pouch and held it out to Lord Beron. "A little of that in water. If she _is _suffering from any ill effects after having been fed the drug for so long, this will help. For the rest, be more careful about who is permitted to handle the food that goes up to her room. If you trust her maid, then have the maid prepare it all herself."

Lord Beron nodded, eyes glimmering. "Thank you." After a moment, he added, "Prince Legolas, my son and daughter know nothing of this. They have enough to worry them. Please…"

"You should tell them," Legolas said simply. "I am sure they will want to know. If something were worrying my father this much, I would want to know of it. But it is your decision, my lord. They will not learn of it from me."

"Thank you."

As he left the house, Legolas could not suppress a feeling of apprehension. Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

* * *

"Nórui is _pregnant_?" Arwen repeated. "Are you certain?"

"Your father trained me as a healer, Arwen. I am not as good as Lord Elrond, but I know a pregnant woman when I see one. Nórui is expecting a child. She is not very far gone, though."

"Idhren's child?"

"I imagine so. She _is _far enough along for that."

"Who else knows?"

"I was on the verge of getting that information from her when I received a letter summoning me here on pain of death."

"But…"

"I know. Send Eldarion to do it as soon as he returns. I do not think he will be able to track Legolas down; he might as well do something useful."

Arwen nodded and slipped from the room. Aragorn cast one longing look at her retreating back before he turned to Thranduil with a rueful sigh.

"I must go as well, my king. There has already been one attempt on Nórui's life today. I would rather be there to prevent a second one. I have to speak to her, too, and see what else she has been hiding from us."

* * *

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	12. A Royal Welcome

**Disclaimer: **Still not one Elf.

So… I'm back. With many, many apologies and a promise that I _will _finish this story.

For reviewing, much gratitude to ziggy3, Wtiger5, The Pearl Maiden, adriennevalhalla, Song in the woods, Sanzoline, Silivren Tinu, Eavis, OhShirleyUJest, sph9swc, Sigrid Sigbjornsdotter, yenneffer, XienRue, Me23, awaylaughingonafastcamel, Nimble and Quick, invisigoth3, gginsc, May Arisa, TwinSwords1991, GAH, Thecookiemonster and Sophie Hatter le Fay.

* * *

**Chapter 12: A Royal Welcome**

Legolas slipped back into Minas Tirith with his hood up and his horse on a slack rein. The guards gave him no more than a cursory glance.

The young Elf's mind was working furiously. Speaking to Lord Beron had helped him – a little. The more he involved himself in seeking out Idhren's murderer, the more he realized how little he truly understood mortals. But Beron had reminded him of Thranduil – and Elrond – and speaking to the elderly man had only convinced him more firmly that Nórui and Nemir were both innocent of wrongdoing.

A little eavesdropping at the gates was enough to tell him that his father had arrived, along with several Elves.

As soon as Legolas heard that, he dismounted. He had to get to the palace quickly, and a horse would only slow him down. Patting the affronted animal on the nose and whispering to it to make its way to the top tier of the city, where one of the guards was bound to recognize it and take it to its accustomed stall in the royal stables, he ran through the crowded afternoon streets to a spot he knew would be empty and leapt onto a low roof.

In minutes he had made his way from roof to terrace to balcony up to the palace.

He went to his own room first. He had learnt over time that it was best, when presenting himself with a potentially displeased liege-lord, to look as much like a warrior of the Woodland Realm as possible.

It took him only minutes to change from the Ranger garb Aragorn had given him to his normal Elven clothes: the green and brown tunic and leggings and short cloak of Thranduil's archers. He tucked a pair of knives into his belt. Centuries-old habits were hard to break. Being ready to respond to danger was ingrained in the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen; even now, with the threat of the Shadow ended, Legolas could not bring himself to go completely unarmed.

He went to Arwen's sitting-room first. There was no answer to his knock. He hesitated a moment before pushing the door open.

The room was empty.

He was about to leave when he heard rapid footsteps. He turned, hand automatically going to his knives.

"Prince Legolas!" It was one of the guards.

"Do you know where the Queen is?" Legolas asked.

"I had hoped to find her here. The King – your father, my Prince, the Elven-king – gave me a message for her. He and Prince Faramir and the Lady Éowyn are in King Elessar's study. I believe Prince Faramir has a matter of considerable importance to discuss with the Queen."

"I will tell her if I find her," Legolas promised.

After the guard had gone on in search of Arwen, the Elf paused for a moment in thought. He had to speak to her – the attack on Lady Lothiad, while not fatal, suggested a murderer with far more knowledge of medicine and Elvish lore than they had previously suspected.

But he also had to speak to his father. Lothiad had been 'taken ill' while travelling through the southern reaches of Eryn Lasgalen. There had been the mysterious trade agreement he had found in Idhren's room. Everything indicated that, however improbable the idea seemed, Idhren's murder was connected in some way to the Woodland Realm. Legolas doubted the man had ever met his father – he knew most of the merchants who travelled that far north, and Idhren had not been one of them – but perhaps someone who worked for him –

Legolas hurried to Aragorn's study.

When he reached it, he found the Queen of Gondor already there. One of the other guards had probably found her. A glance at her was enough to tell him she had something to say.

But Arwen's news would have to wait. Thranduil was unfolding himself from the chair by the window, getting to his feet with an unreadable expression that Legolas knew from experience could turn into either merriment or displeasure in a matter of seconds.

Legolas bowed formally. "_Aran brannon._"

"Legolas. At least you have not come here in the mannish disguise that was described to me." Thranduil crossed his arms. "Eldarion was on the verge of sending a search party for you, but Saeldur and Rochendilwen managed to convince him that would be unnecessary. They were confident you would return here safely."

"They are wise, my King."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "Meaning that you are an Elven-warrior who has fought in countless battles and I should not question your ability to keep yourself alive if you go riding alone?"

Legolas flushed.

"No matter what you think, Legolas," Thranduil went on, "I do not doubt that you can look after yourself. You have given me ample proof of it over the centuries. I do, however, question the wisdom of gallivanting across the country without an escort. You know not all Men approve of the Elven presence in Gondor and Arnor."

"My King."

Thranduil sighed. "I know it is difficult, Legolas, especially after having been a warrior all your life – _I _know, better than anyone. But you must learn that you cannot…" He shook his head. "We can discuss this later. I take it you had a _reason _for recklessly endangering your life?"

Legolas glanced questioningly at Arwen, who said, "I have told him everything."

"The trade agreements?"

"That as well," Thranduil said. "I remember no such trade agreements either – and Istuion, I am certain, would have brought them to my notice, given the… unique… situation with Gondor."

"There is more." Legolas dropped into a chair, fingering his knives nervously. "I went to meet Lord Beron… Lady Nórui's father," he added for Thranduil's benefit. "I thought it odd that he should be content to stay on his country estates at a time like this."

"That it is," Thranduil said, and Arwen nodded her agreement.

"He had a reason. His wife, Lady Lothiad, is gravely ill… Nórui and Nemir know nothing of it. I gave him my word they would not hear of it from me, though I also urged him to tell them himself. They would want to know."

"And your manner leads me to believe Lady Lothiad does not suffer from any normal illness."

"No," Legolas said to Arwen. "Lord Beron told me that she was taken ill while on a trip north with her kin. They planned to travel through Lórien and the southern part of Eryn Lasgalen before riding through the High Pass."

"A long journey, then."

"They returned sooner than expected – they were forced to, since Lady Lothiad was ill. I saw her." He glanced from Thranduil to Arwen. "I believe someone has been poisoning her… with one of our healing draughts. The one Calathiel concocts from spider venom. I gave Lord Beron the serum."

Thranduil's brows drew together. "How? Only Elven healers would possess the draught."

"Whoever was poisoning her might have obtained it in Eryn Lasgalen – or even in Lothlórien; there are still some Elves there."

"You think _Elves _are involved?" Arwen asked in disbelief.

"I doubt it. What would any Elf stand to gain from poisoning Lady Lothiad? It is not as though Lord Beron has something Elves are likely to want. No, I imagine one of the travelling party simply asked an Elf for it. Many are unaware that it is unsafe for mortals, and anyone would willingly give medicine to a traveller in need."

"But it makes no sense," Arwen protested. "The draught makes mortals ill, but it will not kill them unless they are already weak and sickly –"

"Which, from what I heard, Lady Lothiad was _not_."

"Precisely. Why go to the trouble of obtaining an Elven draught that is unlikely to kill her when there are plenty of well-known poisons that _will_?"

"An Elven draught would be undetected," Thranduil said grimly. "A mortal poison would be recognized, but Gondor's healers are unlikely to be able to identify the symptoms of the spider venom draught. I doubt even Estel would know them; Elrond did not use it, and our kin in Lórien began using it only after the War."

"And perhaps whoever did this did not want to _kill_ Lady Lothiad," Legolas added.

"Only keep her ill enough to ensure that Lord Beron did not come to Minas Tirith," Arwen finished. "And I suspect the murderer did not want _her _blood on their hands. If anything happened to his beloved wife, Lord Beron would not rest until the perpetrator was brought to justice."

"Yet he cowers on his estate while his daughter confronts the grief of her loss and his son is in danger of dying for a crime he might not have committed," Thranduil muttered. "He is unworthy of the name of father."

"I suspect Lady Lothiad would tell him the same," Arwen said wryly. "And now there is something I have to tell _you_, Elfling. Someone tried to kill Nórui." Legolas looked startled, but before he could say anything, Arwen went on, "And in a manner unlike Idhren's murder, and the maid's… She was shot at."

"An archer?"

Arwen nodded. "Perhaps the same person who flung the dagger at you –"

"Who _what_?" Thranduil demanded.

"Nothing, my King," Legolas said quickly, glaring at the Queen of Gondor. "A man – we do not know who it was –"

"Tried to _kill _you?"

"We do not know that he was trying to kill me."

"Legolas!"

"We will have him brought to justice, my King," Arwen soothed. "Whoever he is. I give you my word on that. Nobody can attempt to murder the Prince of the Woodland Realm in the city of Elrond's daughter and go unpunished." Thranduil looked unconvinced, but she went on without giving him a chance to protest. "Legolas, Nórui is pregnant."

Legolas stared at her. "Idhren's child?"

"That is what she said, and Estel believes her."

Legolas was about to say something when someone knocked at the door.

"Come!" Arwen called.

The door opened and Eldarion slipped in, followed by Saeldur and Rochendilwen. Legolas exchanged glances with the two Elves. The quick looks were enough, between warriors who had fought side-by-side all their lives, to convey both question and reassurance that all was well.

"Eldarion has told us of your exploits," Saeldur said, drawing a chair up beside Legolas'. "Midnight chases across the rooftops of Minas Tirith? You appear to have been enjoying yourself."

"Midnight chases?" Thranduil asked, eyebrows going up. "I knew nothing of this. It appears we will have a great deal to discuss later, Legolas."

Legolas contrived to nod innocently at his father and glare at his friend at the same time.

"In any event," Arwen said, "there is something you can do for us now, Eldarion. You have studied with the city's clerks."

"I have."

"Good. Then you can answer this question. Idhren's first will leaves everything to his siblings and his second one is missing… And that means that, unless either the second will is produced or one of the witnesses comes forward to tell us what was in it, the first one will stand."

"Yes…"

"What if Idhren left a child?"

"Born after the first will was written?"

"After the second one."

"If parentage were proved, the birth of a child would invalidate any previously existing will."

"How does one prove parentage?"

Eldarion blushed. "If it is a… forgive me, my King. If it is a legitimate child – in this case, Nórui's child – the child would be assumed to be Idhren's, and the burden would be on the beneficiaries of the will, Doron and Bainmeril, to prove otherwise. If Nórui has a child within nine months of Idhren's death, it will be considered his. If… well. If it is another child, the child's mother will have to produce proof. That would be next to impossible, of course."

"Nórui is pregnant," Arwen said slowly. "And your father thinks there can be no doubt that it is Idhren's."

"If that is true," Eldarion said gravely, "then Idhren's will is invalid – the first will, and the second if ever it is found. Nórui's child will inherit everything."

"That explains the attempt on Nórui's life," Legolas said.

"The question is," Arwen added, "whether whoever killed Idhren knows the second will is missing… or not."

* * *

Aragorn hurried into Nórui's room, half-terrified that he would find her dead with an arrow through her heart.

Just as Aragorn was about to enter the room, the door burst open. Bainmeril came out. She appeared distressed, but she shook her head at Aragorn's questioning glance, pushed him aside, and hurried away.

Aragorn knocked and went in.

"Lady Nórui."

"Elessar King," she responded politely.

When she made to rise, he waved her down. "We need no formality, and you need rest." He drew a chair up beside the bed and sat. "Your sister-in-law seemed unhappy."

Nórui grimaced. "I suppose you have come to scold me about it."

"I do not even know what happened."

"I find it difficult to believe that, my King. You already appear to know far more about what happens in this house than any of us." She looked up. "I understand you have met the young man in question. Amrúthor."

"I have. He…" Aragorn hesitated. He might be King of Gondor and Arnor, but this was a private family matter. It was not his place to interfere, even if he did – perhaps because of his own experience of wondering how many Elves hated him for claiming their loveliest and best beloved maiden – sympathize with them. At last he settled for saying, "He seems a good man, Lady Nórui."

"Idhren did not think so." Nórui frowned. "Idhren… Do not tell Bainmeril this. She does not know. Idhren intended to have Amrúthor sent away."

"And what do you intend?"

Nórui shrugged. "I have never met Amrúthor myself, but from what my husband told me… However, I have no authority over Bainmeril. I know that as well as anybody else does. And Doron is not particularly fond of Amrúthor, but he does not, I think, dislike him. I do not know how my mother-in-law feels."

Aragorn nodded. He said nothing, although he made a mental note of the fact that Idhren had been planning to send Amrúthor away. Nórui _thought _Bainmeril was unaware, but…

He sighed. There was much to do and much to think about. And, in the meantime, he had to keep Nórui safe.

"You cannot stay here," he told her. "One thing _is _clear: there is a murderer in this house. You cannot stay here and endanger yourself recklessly. Perhaps you should go to the Palace. It will be safer there."

Nórui's eyes flashed in a way that reminded Aragorn of Gilraen. "I am not a frightened child, my King. My father served in your army. I will not run and hide – certainly not from a coward who would slay a man while he was abed and shoot at a woman from the shadows."

"It is not only yourself you must think about, Lady Nórui." Aragorn got to his feet. "Will you send for your personal maid? Do you trust her?"

"Completely," Nórui said. "She is in my confidence – she has been since I was a girl."

"I must speak to her, then. I have instructions for her… And, Lady Nórui, please give serious thought to leaving this house. It is unsafe, and you are in a delicate condition. My wife will ensure that you are cared for and protected."

Nórui rang for her maid.

While they were waiting, Aragorn said, "Answer me now, Lady Nórui. Who else knows of your pregnancy?"

Nórui shook her head. "Nobody knew. I could not… I…" She sighed. "I was not sure before Idhren died. I suspected, but I was not _certain_, so I told him nothing. I had no desire to disappoint him if I were wrong. And by the time I _was _certain… Well. It hardly seemed the time to worry about it, with Idhren dead and Nemir in prison. My personal maid knows, of course."

"Only your maid?" When Nórui hesitated, Aragorn pressed, "You _must _be honest with me, Lady Nórui, if I am to help you."

"There is someone – but you must not suspect her! I give you my word she is innocent."

"If she is innocent, she has nothing to fear from me," Aragorn said gently. "Lady Nórui, please."

She sighed. "Her name is Aldis. She was my wet nurse. A few years ago, she married a man in Minas Tirith, a blacksmith. She lives here now, though not in this house."

"And you went to her for advice?"

Nórui shrugged. "What else was I to do? I contemplated speaking to my mother, but… I suspect all is not well with her. She has not written to me for some time. My father says she is very busy, but too busy to write to me at a time like this?" She shook her head. "I would go, to see for myself, but I cannot leave Minas Tirith until Nemir has been cleared."

"And… Aldis?"

"I sent for her as soon as I suspected. She has been helpful."

"You did not consider asking your mother-in-law for help?"

"Had Aldis not been here, I might have done. But… To tell the truth, my King, I wanted to put it off as long as I could. It brought back difficult memories, and… And until I know what happened to Idhren, I do not wish to discuss this with anyone. It would be too painful."

"Is that the only reason you have kept it secret?"

Nórui raised her head defiantly. "The _only _reason, my King."

"As you say," Aragorn said quietly.

The King of Gondor left the room and made his way slowly upstairs.

He was about to open the door to his room when he felt the unmistakeable prickle on his skin that meant someone was watching him. With speed that belied his age, he spun, put his back to the wall, and looked around.

The corridor was empty.

But his skin still prickled.

* * *

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